Five Dollar Heroes
by Samuel Keller
Summary: Many have romantic ideals for Vault Hunters, seeing them as dashing, daring, dandies and fierce, fiery, femme fatales. Unfortunately, this is not accurate in the slightest regard. Six months after the Watcher visited the Crimson Raiders, the Vault Hunters have no good options available to them. Now their bottom-of-the-barrel recruits are the best hope they have. As usual.
1. Chapter 1: The King

**Axton**

It was bloody hot.

Axton wiped the sweat from his brow absently on a worn sleeve, noting with disdain how often he had to perform such an action. That was at least the fifth time in the last thirty seconds, and the frequency had only increased the longer he had been outside.

"At least it ain't humid," grunted the commando. He had been to a few places where it was both hot and humid, to the point where he could take a morning shower and not dry off till the evening.

Not the Dust though. The Dust was dryer than a middle-aged comedian's sense of humor, and past a certain point nothing could withstand the lack of water. He hadn't even seen a cactus for two days now, to his eternal dismay, as he had grown fond of the juice from them.

"It really quenches the thirst," he whispered. "I should be more careful though. That last one made me hallucinate for four hours."

He paused, noting some sort of obstruction ahead. The plains had been clear for hours now, and this was the first thing even shaped like a rock. It jutted out several meters out of the ground, slanted as if it had begun to fall over before deciding to simply stop.

Axton drove closer, noting how it appeared to have once been a structure and not a random rock. Any symbols or marks that had once been on it were gone, but it was simply too rectangular to have been a geological occurrence.

He drove past it, noting a few more stones were ahead. They were of different sizes and angles, but each one looked similar to the original one he had passed. Finally he reached a low stone wall, making a quarter-circle away from him similar to a ledge

He parked his car and walked onto the ledge, looking down in mild astonishment. Past the ledge a massive hole in the sand had appeared, scaling down gently but consistently downwards. More stones appeared sporadically in the hole, and these ones still had their markings. A few even had the residual shiny lines on them, like he had predicted.

"Eridian," murmured Axton.

He reached into his car and grabbed his assault rifle, bracing the butt against his shoulder. He methodically walked into the ruin, checking each blind spot as he passed it.

He found the first Eridian behind a rock, slumped in darkness. It was lying down on its back, most of its massive form obscured by darkness. He approached it quietly and slowly, rifle aimed at it.

He reached it, noting its blood pooling nearby. He kicked it sharply, the body jerking only from the force alone.

"Dead, and not for long," he noted.

He found another car nearby, this one apparently from a bandit group. The car was empty, but the engine was still hot from recent operations. Judging by the supplies in it, there was only one person.

"Defector, or a scout," he pondered. "Whatever it is, this isn't good."

He kept going down into the hole, finding more Eridian bodies the further he went. Each one had been killed with bullet wounds, most precisely aimed center mass.

"This guy is good," he commented absently. "If he's a defector, I'd gladly take him."

He heard movement ahead and ducked behind a rock, peeking out after a few seconds.

A large structure was in the center of the hole, appearing like two rocks sloped up against each other. Upon closer inspection, they made the perfect shape of a V, a symbol he recognized.

"A Vault?" he whispered amazed. "That's impossible. There isn't a Vault marked anywhere near here."

He saw what had startled him a moment ago, a lone figure digging through the rubble. The figure was dressed in bandit armor, but was rather clean and well-kept compared to most. He wasn't whispering to himself or covered in blood, and he seemed no different from an ordinary man. Every few seconds, he looked around cautiously, his firearm in his hands.

"That idiot is unburying it," murmured Axton annoyed. "He probably thinks its treasure or something."

The figure finished his job, the V arch completely unburied. He sighed, dusting off his hands on his trousers.

"Finally," he heard the man say. "So…maybe…?"

Axton rolled his eyes. Whatever was in here probably had dried up or been excavated already. The Eridians left over were just here because they were bound here. This place was likely a previously pillaged Vault of some sort, not even worth a mention.

He saw the figure remove something glowing from his pocket, and his eyes widened. The object was square and glowed purple, a familiar purple.

"No!" roared Axton leaping out of cover and charging him. "Stop!" Whatever would happen from activating whatever mechanism was in here wouldn't be good for either of them.

The figure either didn't hear him from this distance or didn't care, as he held up the Eridium into the arch.

The Eridium disappeared in a flurry of sparks as the arch lit up with electricity, glowing a deep white color.

Then it flashed every color imaginable, Axton covering his eyes in pain from the brightness exponentially increasing. A loud whine came from the arch, sounding as if something was charging inside of it.

"Get back!" he warned as loud as he could.

The figure, again didn't seem to notice. He was staring at the light in wonder, hand still outstretched into the arch. He was likely equally terrified and transfixed, like a man gazing upon the wake of a great natural disaster.

The arch's light flowed onto his arm, the figure stopping motionless. He looked at it curiously as it coiled snake-like around his arm, gently humming and buzzing.

Then it stabbed into his arm and he began screaming.

Axton began sprinting away as fast as he could, the uphill climb literally feeling every bit as uphill. Whatever the arch was doing, he did not want to be hit by it.

The figure's body became covered in the light, his voice increasing in pitch as he howled in agony. He did not collapse or even move however, standing statue-like in the face of the arch.

Then it all vanished in an instant, the noise and light dissipating. Axton peered out from the rock he had sought refuge behind, noting the man lying there in front of the arch. His body was smoking, likely from the heat of whatever had been done to him, and lay motionless.

"Damn, poor bastard," grunted Axton.

Then it started to move.

He dove back into cover, cursing to himself.

"This ain't good," he murmured. "He knows I'm here."

He looked out under the rock from a small hole, taking in the man. The man had the normal bandit attire of random stained leather and metal plates, but also had a leather cloak over his shoulders to guard from the sun, complete with hood.

The man stood, dusting off the dirt from where he had fallen. He moved slowly and drunkenly, as if it was trying on new arms and legs.

"Come on, come on," he whispered. "Just bloody leave already."

The man glared right at the rock he was hiding behind, Axton cursing himself for not trying to hide his footprints better. He gripped his rifle tight, his knuckles turning white.

Then the man disappeared.

One second he was glaring right at him, the next second he had vanished. Axton blinked several times, making sure it wasn't some sort of illusion.

"What the…?" he grunted as he began looking around.

Only to find the man waiting right behind him, crouched and silent.

Axton leaped back for half a second as he brought his rifle up, but a half-second wasn't fast enough.

The man shoved him through the rock. One arm was strong enough to throw him bodily through stone, his armor absorbing the impact as he shattered the ancient rock. He flew down into the hole, rolling in the sand and getting it in everywhere. He could taste it in his mouth and smell it in his nose, and it burned every inch of exposed skin and then some.

He managed to right himself on one knee, bringing his rifle up. He began firing, not even bothering for a clever catchphrase. At this point, it was shoot or die.

The man raised a single hand, the bullets halting in mid-air in front of him. Each one hovered compliantly a meter from his body, each one still spinning from the rifling.

Axton swore and threw out his turret to the side, running to the opposite direction. Maybe the man couldn't do that trick in both directions, or it could be overwhelmed if done so.

His turret popped into life, but the man only glanced at it and it burst into pieces. He wanted to call out in despair at the destruction of his mechanical ally, but had to focus. Mourning could come when he wasn't about to get killed.

He threw a few grenades from his belt, each one stopped in front of the man liked the others. Thankfully, they detonated, throwing dust and smoke everywhere.

"How do you like that?!" roared Axton cockily.

His eyes widened in shock, taking a step backwards in horror.

The man still stood there, not a mark on his body. The blast had gone all around him, not even scorching his clothes.

Axton, now panicking, drew a rocket launcher from his SDU and began firing it like a madman. He was so scared he was practically working on auto-pilot, barely able to even think.

"WHY WON'T YOU DIE?!" he screamed in frustration. The man wasn't even reacting was what frightened him. Even things that had taken this much damage had at least reacted before. The other things he had hit. This thing wasn't even getting touched by all the things he was doing.

The rockets had the same effect as the grenades, the explosions reflected harmlessly over the man's body.

The man glanced at him, his hood obscuring his facial features, and disappeared. This time, he appeared right in front of him.

Axton took an instinctive step back, but a hand grabbed around his throat to stop him. He grasped at the arm around his throat, the grip so tight it cut off the air to his head.

"Let…go…!" snapped the commando. He drew a knife and tried to stab it into the man's wrist, but the man stopped the blade and crushed it in his free hand.

"…who rules this planet?" asked the man in a voice that didn't sound human. Hell, it didn't sound like anything Axton had ever heard. It sounded half machine and half animal, portions of it snarling and rising unnaturally to levels he could barely hear.

"…the…Crimson Raiders…" whispered Axton.

The man looked around, noting the bodies of the other Eridians with a mild disdain in his posture. "…how long…?"

"Since…what…?"

"Since my kind walked this earth."

"Your…kind…?"

The man sighed. "Yes. The Eridians. How long?"

Axton found the last sentence curious, but his oxygen-deprived brain was beginning to run low. His vision was already turning black, his body losing strength. "No…idea…"

The man loosened his grip a bit, allowing him to get more oxygen. "Figures as much. Judging by the attire and weaponry of you and this man, your kind hasn't gotten very far in technology. All the better. You spoke of Crimson Raiders. Tell me, how many are you?"

Axton knew answering honestly wasn't wise. Their ranks had never been bigger, but compared to a proper army like the Crimson Elite, they were rather lacking. "Tens of thousands, with hundreds of warriors stronger than entire legions of men."

The man let out a noise that might've been one of surprise. "Oh? Well, that's good to hear. This would be boring if you were all complacent."

Axton looked at the man's face, but couldn't see anything past the shadows of the hood. "Who…are you?"

The man chuckled. "Didn't that pesky Watcher speak of me? He warned of a war? Well, here I am."

Axton's eyes widened as the full dawn of what was happening sank in. This was the warning the Eridian known only as the Watcher had given them. This person before him.

"What is your name?" asked Axton.

"Oh? Well, I'm King. I think this man here was once named Charlemagne. I think I like that."

"King Charlemagne, huh? Well…what do you want?"

The man drew back his hood, exposing his face, or specifically, his eyes. They were a deep white, like the arch before, and full of sparkling electricity. He grinned, his teeth shining white.

"Everything," whispered King Charlemagne menacingly.

He threw Axton across the hole, the commando smashing into several rocks as he flew. He landed in a heap near the edge of the pit, several body parts broken or bleeding or both. He could hardly move, let alone stand.

Charlemagne walked past him, chuckling quietly to himself. He glanced at his body, his face twisted in a grin. "Tell your leaders this: War is coming, and they best have readied themselves. After war, comes death."

He walked off after that, Axton weakly grasping into one of his pockets. He withdrew a red syringe, stabbing it into his arm.

He gasped as the medicine rapidly began healing his wounds, resetting broken bones and replacing lost blood. In a few moments, he was in pain but healthy.

He stood, looking around in every direction for Charlemagne. The man, the Eridian, the whatever-the-hell, had disappeared, leaving only Axton.

He put down his rifle, sighing. "Well shit."

* * *

 **[Richard McGuinness]: "Hell yeah! We're back in business!"**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "Wait, why are we here? We're not characters this time, are we?"**

 **[Samuel Keller]: "No. I kept you two from the original story because I liked your personalities as a voice box for me when I don't personally wish to appear."**

 **[Richard McGuinness]: "Oh, hey Sam. But…you're appearing now."**

 **[Samuel Keller]: "Merely to explain the situation to any new viewers, at least I certainly hope I'll get new viewers. These two guys are my voices in the story, a slightly more appropriate tone for the overall comedic story. Richard is an older gentleman with crippling alcoholism and troubles with his ex-wives. Scotty is a omnisexual pervert with a gambling addiction. I just summarized their entire personality for you."**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "I don't have a gambling problem! I can quit any time I want!"**

 **[Richard McGuinness]: "I think your phone is beeping."**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "Hey, I got more coins! Time to hit the slots!"**

 **[Richard McGuinness]: "As for me, I agree completely. I miss my ex-wives, but my aim is getting better."**

 **[Samuel Keller]: "Yeah…so anyway, for my veteran viewers, this is my new Borderlands story. My older one, bless its heart, will eventually get wrapped up and finished, but it would be best to consider it dead in the water. I am sorry for not bringing closure like I liked, but let me assure you, I mean to fix that. This story is already breathing fresh breath into me. I got the fire back."**

 **[Richard McGuinness]: "Careful. We might have to get an extinguisher at this rate."**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "That was the lamest joke I've read since I got off that cripple site."**

 **[Richard McGuinness]: "Offensive! Offensive content!"**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "Oh bugger off! I'm trying to win!"**

 **[Samuel Keller]: "Well, I guess that wraps this chapter up. Old fans, take the time to drop a review and see how it compares to the original. New fans…merely state how you liked it! And since I'm not a money-grubbing scrub, I won't ask you to Like and Subscribe or whatever, but I would appreciate it if the effort is sincere. Whatever the case, have a nice day!"**

 **[Richard McGuinness]: "Later you Saudi-Arabian pieces of piss!"**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "Tatty bye!"**


	2. Chapter 2: Meet the Team

**Lilith**

Lilith smashed her fist into her desk with immense force, knocking over the coffee cup hanging precariously over the edge onto the floor. "Well shit."

"That about sums it up," spoke Mordecai bluntly, Talon perched obediently on his master's shoulder. The bird was similar to Bloodwing, but black where the original had been brown. It was silent, looking around the room analytically in case something approached.

"You alright, Lil?" asked Brick, his steel gauntlets on the table in front of him. Compared to everyone else, his chair looked comically too small to support his massive body, though it seemed to manage well enough.

"Yeah, just bloody pissed off," snapped the Siren. "I thought we'd have more time to prepare. We don't have nearly the numbers we need to face whatever this King is."

"He's damn powerful," grunted Axton, painfully grabbing at his left shoulder. It had taken most of the brunt from being thrown several dozen meters, and even after all the medicine he had pumped into it, it still possessed an ache like nothing else. "And that point he had just woken up. He's likely stronger once he really wakes up."

"It doesn't look very good," agreed Maya. She had trimmed her hair back rather far in the past six months, giving her a more gothic look that kept any hair from entering her eyes.

"Not at all," grunted Salvador, the short but massive man's feet barely hanging from above the floor, a fact he resented since no one else had the same problem.

Zer0 merely shook his head, preferring to remain silent.

"WHAT ARE WE FLAPPING OUR MEAT GUMS ABOUT?!" roared Krieg confused.

"So, what, we gonna sit here feeling sorry for ourselves or do something about it?" snapped Gaige boldly. "How many Vault Hunters do we have besides us?"

At this Mordecai adjusted his collar, growing nervous. He was the one in charge of recruitment, and clearly it hadn't been going well. "Well…uh…well it's only been six months and…I've been taking care of Talon, so…"

"How many?" demanded Lilith sternly.

"Twelve."

She gaped at him, stunned. "We only have twelve Vault Hunters?"

"No. Applicants. Twelve applicants."

Lilith sat back in her seat, rubbing the back of her head exasperated. "Zer0?"

"Yes ma'am?"

"Strangle Mordecai."

"Yes ma'am."

"Wait, wait, wait!" begged the hunter before a steely pair of hands grabbed his throat and began shaking him. Talon squawked in protest and flapped his wings, furiously pecking and clawing at Zer0, who didn't notice through his metal armor.

"No…one…wanted…the…job…!" he protested.

"Handsome Jack had hundreds of idiots signing up for him, and we only get twelve?" argued Lilith.

"He…had…whole…galaxy…I…only…had…Pandora's…system…"

The Siren sighed. It was likely his only argument, but it was a good one. "Zer0, stop."

The assassin nodded, releasing the hunter and sitting back down.

"I want them assembled in our lobby," spoke Lilith commandingly. "We're doing flash interviews today."

"Does that mean we don't have standards today?" inquired Axton.

"Today, I'd take a monkey with a shotgun if it knew how to follow orders and not crap all over my floors," replied the Siren honestly. "We need anyone even slightly competent."

* * *

 **Lilith and Co.**

Lilith stared in astonishment at the twelve people before her. She glared at Mordecai. "These are my applicants?"

"Best and brightest," bragged Mordecai.

Lilith highly doubted that. She walked down the line, stopping at the very first person. She looked straight up, astonished by the man's height. That quickly faded and was replaced by disgust when she saw his face.

The man was a walking corpse. His skin was grey and rotting, several maggots walking amongst the holes in his skin. His eyes were deep yellow, as if he had injected paint into them, and his hair was deep old white color going down to his waist. He wore ragged black robes over his skeletal body, though nothing covered his hands or feet, exposing the foul nails and skin.

"…you're a zombie," noted Lilith.

"And you're observant," spoke the zombie calmly, in a voice similar to a certain detective who lived on Baker Street.

"…who are you?"

The zombie grinned, bowing with a dramatic flourish. "I am Sir Robert of Bleaklight. Master of Magic, Flayer of Men, Immortal Scourge, Kinslayer, and Frequent Jaywalker. A pleasure to meet you."

"Frequent Jaywalker?" repeated Lilith skeptically.

"I'm most proud of that one," he said smirking.

She looked at the man next to him, the only one not bothered by the fact he was a walking corpse. The man was dressed in heavy metal armor, a large broadsword strapped to his back. For all intents and purposes, he looked like a knight straight from a medieval tale.

"And who are you supposed to be?"

The knight bowed his head. "Paladin Svyatogor." His voice was heavy and thick, sounding as if he was speaking through vodka gelatin shots.

"Svi-what?"

"Svyatogor."

"Well…you seem fine with Robert here. You two know each other?"

"Yes, actually. We're close friends."

She glanced at the zombie and the knight, eyebrows raised. "Uh-huh. Of course."

She spared a glare at Mordecai before continuing down the line. She was stopped by a protruding belly sticking out from the line, massive in its size.

"Oh, beg pardon miss," spoke the belly, though that likely came from the head attached to it. Hopefully.

The owner of the belly tuckered back, two enormous hands slamming onto it. She looked at the man, noting how he was built just as strong as Salvador or Brick, but far fatter. He was covered in tattoos and wore no shirt, though he did wear one killer pair of pants.

"First time I met a guy's belly before his face," she noted blandly.

The man chuckled, scratching at the back of his head. "Sorry bout that miss. Figured we gotta stand in line all straight and orderly, but this had other plans." He slapped his belly to accentuate exactly what this was. His voice was similar to the Zafords, though his immense size made it far deeper.

She smiled softly. While he was the furthest thing from pretty, the man had a gruff simpleton attitude about him that was so sincere it would be rude to not at least grow fond of it. "What's your name, big guy?"

"Walden Stormbelly miss," answered the man. "Well, not the miss part, just Walden…you get it, you get it."

"I do. Interesting name. Care to explain how you got it?"

"Well…uh…you see I got it one night from eating a whole tray of enchiladas, and…"

"Good thing they didn't call you Walden Smellyass," she noted dryly.

"It didn't roll of the tongue as well," he said grinning.

She smirked. She decided she liked this guy, even though he was built like a pregnant refrigerator.

She moved to the next person, noting how this person looked normal. Well, normal was a strong word for a Vault Hunter to use. Compared to the last three, the body armor the person was wearing was sensible and functional, the hair kept in a ponytail behind the head.

"Damn, that is some good looking armor," whistled Lilith studying the woman head to feet.

"You gonna ogle me some more or ask some question?" inquired the armored woman boldly. She clearly wasn't intimidated by the Siren, or her reputation.

"I just might," argued Lilith defensively. "Not that many good-looking sights on Pandora. I'm amazed Moxxi hasn't eaten you alive."

"She tried."

"And?"

"I asked her if she wanted a shot between the eyes to ruin her face or in the heart to ruin her breasts."

"That isn't a good choice. Both are really nice."

"Yeah," murmured Walden blushing.

"What's your name?" asked the Siren.

"Amber. Dominique Amber."

"Well Amber, you seem all sorts of like a no-nonsense bitch who probably makes every ECHOnet feminazi pair of panties drop to the floor," grunted Lilith honestly. "I like that. But if you go around castrating my boys, I'm going to bury you up to your neck in sand and get skags to bone your skull."

"Whoa, super graphic Lilith," murmured Mordecai disgusted.

"Seems fair," spoke the woman. "But call me anything related to those bra-burning psychopaths, and I'll ruin both your face and breasts."

"Fair enough."

Lilith went to the next person, getting a double take at someone she had almost passed.

"Are you a black samurai?" she asked simply.

"My name is Elijah Kato," stated the man adjusting his katana.

"…this is every tabletop fantasy roleplay and anime I have ever done and watched," she said grinning. "This is so cool it hurts."

"I am grateful you like the idea of my very existence," grunted Elijah sarcastically.

"See! You're even snarky! It's like someone ripped you right out of every nerd's letter to Santa Claus! Right beside the new computer build and body pillow of course."

She turned to the guy she had nearly skipped, recoiling slightly. The man was perfectly still, but that was only the first brick in an entire building of creepy. He was tall and thin, appearing like a starvation victim. His attire was velvet armor stripped with flecks of gold, though what was on his head was the cherry on top. He was wearing a gold mask, apparently made of pure gold judging by the shine. The mask was vaguely skull-like, a large smile etched onto the front to curve with his face. His eyes were exposed, both of them pale white.

"Well if you're not the creepiest fucking thing I've seen all day," murmured Lilith. "And that's against some stiff competition with a dead guy in our ranks."

"I have a name!" shouted Robert exasperated.

The man bowed, putting full swagger into it. "My apologies, miss. I realize my ambience might be macabre, but rest assured it is fulfilled for the sole intention of style alone. My intent was not to frighten."

"Well it is stylish, I'll give it that. You got a name, masked man?"

"I am Mason Maliwan, rightful heir to the Maliwan corporation."

Amber stiffened, turning to face him. "Wait a minute…Mason…"

She ripped her assault rifle off her back, cocking it and aiming right at him.

Elijah threw himself between her and Mason, Svyatogor grabbing Amber by her arms.

"Let go of me!" ordered the mercenary. "That man doesn't deserve to live! He barely deserves the bullets needed to kill him!"

"That's a bold claim," noted Lilith. "Normally I wouldn't step in, but this time I have to. We need all the recruits we can get."

"You don't want him! That man is a psychopath!"

"Ah, Miss Amber, that's unfair," protested Mason. "I'm merely an artist of gunpowder and blood. Whether my patrons can understand my work is irrelevant."

Lilith didn't like the talk of artistry, but decided she hadn't seen enough of Mason to judge him completely. "No one is shooting anybody, and that's final. You don't like it, get out of my city."

Amber lowered her rifle, Svyatogor releasing her.

"You're making a mistake," grunted Amber, but she stepped back into line regardless.

Lilith sighed, walking to the next. She noted how the person before her hadn't noticed the entire situation earlier, too busy bobbing his head to the music. The man was dressed in a bright green jumpsuit, his upper body covered in electronic equipment. He was dancing in place as well, with rather slick moves Lilith admitted.

"Yo, snazzy pants," she said calmly.

The man didn't hear her, his eyes closed to fully hear his music.

"Hey!"

The man paused, noticing the Siren. He removed his headphones, grinning sheepishly. "Oh, sorry."

"Freaking hell, how loud do you listen to that?" asked Lilith astonished.

"Well my ears aren't getting any younger," admitted the man.

"What's your name?"

"Harmonious Ling. My friends call me Ling."

"Wait, the Ling?" asked Lilith astonished. "That new electronic music artist?"

"Oh, you heard of me? I'm flattered. Would you like an autograph? I already gave your friend Mordecai one."

"Thanks for signing my knife by the way!" shouted Mordecai.

Lilith looked the DJ up and down. "So what does an aspiring musician want to find here?"

"Inspiration!" shouted Ling grinning widely. "Best way to make art is to see all sorts of things, and Vault Hunters seem to have that in the job description."

"If you were curious, that is the reason I am present as well," spoke Mason.

Lilith shrugged. "Well, as long as you can fight, welcome aboard."

She went to the next person, noting that she would've found this one unusual save for everyone else she had just met.

"…you're a robot," she stated looking up at it.

"Yes," spoke the robot. It was vaguely humanoid in structure, its skin dark black metal and reflective. It had a singular ocular port where its face would've normally been, with nothing else there to indicate facial expressions. It wore purple robes over its torso and legs, though its hands and feet were uncovered, revealing they were composed of four long digits. It managed to avoid the uncanny valley by not being too human-like, simply looking like a robot.

"…what's your name, uh…are you a dude or…do you robots have genders?"

"I am a Systemic Hardwired Applications Worker unit. We do not possess genders. It is a pleasure to meet you."

"…SHAW?"

"That is the acronym, yes. If you wish to refer to this one as SHAW, that is acceptable."

"…why are you here?"

"To understand humans."

"By shooting them?"

"By working with them."

"…there's someone you should meet later. Anyway, welcome aboard."

Lilith stepped over to the next man in line, or in this case, woman in line. The woman wore a black and red business suit with skirt, looking every bit as regal as everyone else looked warlike. However, the pistol and SMG on her side clearly indicated she belonged there, and what really caught Lilith's eye was the red tattoo stretching down from her right eyebrow down past her neck.

"No way," whispered Lilith astonished. "Are you a Siren?"

"Yes," answered the woman with no trace of emotion.

They both stood facing the other, Lilith not sure how to react. She had hugged Maya upon meeting her, but this woman was the very image of calm professionalism. Most peculiarly, she saw a dangerous tint in the other woman's eyes, as if she was two steps from pulling out that pistol and shooting someone.

"So…what do you do?" asked Lilith awkwardly.

The woman grinned, flicking her right wrist. Immediately from behind her stepped an exact copy of herself, save for glowing red eyes.

"Take a guess," stated the two of them simultaneously.

"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" roared Robert from the other side of the line.

"Ignore him!" yelled Svyatogor. "He's just bored since no one is paying attention to him!"

"That may or may not be true!"

The new Siren made her clone disappear, smirking. "My name is Beatrice. It's a pleasure to meet another Siren."

"Yeah! We should…totally hang out sometime! Maybe get a couple beers, watch some Netflix, maybe even pick up some guys at a bar?"

"Perhaps. I'd like to be a Vault Hunter first though."

"That's understandable. We'll talk later."

She reached the next man, though she knew for a fact this person wasn't even human. The person was tall and thin, and while humanoid, had metallic grey skin and black facial markings. It wore regal blue armor, bright pink decals on the edges of its armor.

"…you're an Eridian, aren't you?" asked Lilith.

"Yes," spoke the Eridian calmly. "My name is Tiberius."

"…I am going to skip you right now, because I got a whole lot of shit to talk to you about in a later chapter. Just wait right here."

She moved on quickly, now anxious. She paused and looked down, noting how short the penultimate person in front of her was. The person was wearing bright white armor with a respirator built into the lower jaw, making their breathing heavy and mechanical. Their eyes were covered in yellow tinted goggles, a wide metal hat atop their head.

"…and what are you supposed to be, albino Darth Vader?" asked Lilith.

The person spoke in a deep synthesized voice, the respirator disguising their own voice. "I am Doctor Richter. I have been a practicing medical officer for ten years."

"Zed isn't going to like that," murmured Mordecai sarcastically. "Well, good to have someone with medical experience on our side. Welcome aboard."

She reached the last man in the line, looking up at the mountain of the man before her. "And just who are you?"

The man, previously silent before, breathed in deep and bellowed in a voice as big as his presence, "Well I am point guard John Havoc, the best battleball player this side of Eden-6! I am here to kick some ass and dunk some heads! I like long walks on the beach, giving penalties, and fistfights in the back of bars!"

"Okay, okay, bloody hell stop yelling," murmured Lilith rubbing her ears. "So you're a…what, some sort of celebrity?"

"Hell yeah! I am astonished you do not know me! I have the most penalties scored per game than any player in history! Fifth most dunks per game as well, though the other four morons are dead, so I can keep working up to that!"

"…well you're just a ball of charm. I'll get to you in turn, don't worry."

She sighed, looking down at the twelve rejects that had been presented to her. These were the recruits, the new generation of Vault Hunters. She didn't trust any of them as far as she could throw them. They were psychopaths, egomaniacs, and more importantly, completely insane.

They were perfect.

"Alright, let's get you all evaluated!" she shouted.

"Evalu-what now?" inquired Walden.

"Oh, we need to make sure your minds are in proper condition for the job," spoke Mordecai.

"Whelp, it was nice knowing all of you," stated Robert grinning.

* * *

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "Okay, I want to make some predictions right here."**

 **[Richard McGuinness]: "Well, drop it down."**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]:"That Doctor Richter whoever is Saprus reincarnated."**

 **[Richard McGuinness]:"Totally agree."**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]:"SHAW is a robot version of Wolfenstein."**

 **[Richard McGuinness]:"...I can see that."**

 **[Richard McGuinness]:"Mason is probably a more psychotic version of Paula."**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]:"Okay, okay, makes sense."**

 **[Richard McGuinness]:"And...well that's about it. The other people are too diffrent to guess who they emulate from the last story."**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]:"So do you think we sufficiently confused the newer viewers?"**

 **[Richard McGuinness]:"Totally."**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]:"Excellent."**


	3. Chapter 3: The Professor

King Charlemagne walked through the mountain range calmly, his brown cloak weaving lightly behind him. To a casual onlooker, he was a normal raider, but getting closer would reveal his glowing eyes and facial markings.

"This body is so frail," he whispered studying his hands, noting the burns on them slowly healing. He had moved so fast before he had shredded the skin with atmospheric friction, and he had to rest to let them heal. Thankfully, it didn't take very long.

He paused, noting an abnormal presence. Presences, he corrected himself, coming from all around him. He was surrounded.

Raiders popped out from all around him, wielding guns and other scrap. He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all, but decided against it.

"You best be going, partner!" shouted one of the men.

Charlemagne dug through the memories of his vessel, realizing these men knew him. Or at least, he knew them. He decided to go along with it.

"Don't you recognize me?" asked the King removing his hood to expose his face.

"Charlie?" asked one of them surprised. "Cheese and rice, you've been gone for weeks! What happened to you?"

"All in good time," assured Charlemagne. He stopped, noting a powerful aura coming from deeper in the mountain range. It was so strong he could sense it from seemingly miles away, surprising him greatly. "…can I pass? I have business to attend to."

"Sure, but the boss would like to know what happened. We've been wondering what happened to you."

Charlemagne grinned. Surely this boss must be the presence he sensed so strongly. "Of course. Please lead the way."

* * *

Charlemagne was lead through the bandit camp in the mountains quickly, the forlorn buildings funny to him. His race had been buried for these cretins? Save for their tenacity, they were barely above animals. He made a reminder to destroy every building they had created, not wanting to even glance at one of their mockeries ever again.

"He's this way," said one of the men, pointing deeper into the camp.

Charlemagne nodded, adjusting his cloak. He felt the aura get closer and closer, his faith restoring itself. That previous fellow in the hole had been strong, no doubt, but this person radiated power like a gas leak.

He paused. Gas leak? He had never heard the term before, and yet he used it with ease.

"This vessel must be implanting onto me," he murmured absently. He shrugged. "I guess it could prove useful. Know thy enemy, as they say."

He stopped, chuckling. He did it again.

They reached the center of the camp, a massive throne stationed behind a campfire. The throne was made of welded guns, rifles and shotguns and submachine guns all bent and contorted into an uncomfortable looking chair.

Seated on the chair was a huge man, at least ten feet tall, with an equally big gun on his lap. The man was dressed in bright red armor, as if painted with blood, and had a helmet with three large horns jutting out of it. His very physique radiated power and respect, like a true leader.

He also was not the aura he had sensed earlier.

"Odd," whispered Charlemagne. This man was strong, but actually appeared weaker than that man from the hole. The aura he sought was close though, closer than before.

"Charlie?" asked the man on the throne astonished. "Is that really you? What happened to your eyes?"

"Never mind that," spoke Charlemagne, annoyed these humans couldn't even speak the full name of his vessel. "Who is here?"

"The usual," stated the man cryptically. "So, what did you find in The Dust? Anything useful?"

"The Dust?" repeated Charlemagne annoyed. "You humans have a vocabulary of hundreds of thousands of words, and you pick two of the simplest for an area that big? I swear, I think my own intelligence is dropping by the second."

The man looked at Charlemagne puzzled. "You humans…? Are you high?"

"Look, I don't have time for this," snapped the King. "Who else is here? I'm sensing a very strong aura from this immediate area. Who else is around here?"

"Only me," spoke a quiet voice from the side of the throne.

He turned, noting a long figure standing beside the man on the throne. The man was wearing a white doctor smock, his gloves and front stained with blood. He was small, barely coming to Charlemagne's throat, and his body was thin and emaciated.

He also had an aura stronger than any Charlemagne had seen since he got here.

Charlemagne laughed. He couldn't believe it. If he hadn't been able to sense the power of this man, he would've skipped right over him without a care. Don't judge a book by its cover, indeed.

"What's so funny?" asked the man on the throne. "Does the doctor amuse you?"

"Doctor?" repeated Charlemagne. "What is your name, doctor?"

"I am Professor Shiro," said the man. "I used to work at the Garden of Eden University until…"

The man on the throne smacked him with his firearm, cutting a wide gash in his face. "Enough doctor! My lieutenant does not want to hear your chatter! He only asked your name!"

"I would advise you not to strike the professor," snapped Charlemagne coldly.

The man on the throne glanced at him like he had grown three heads. "Why? What can he do? All he does is patch our injuries."

Charlemagne shook his head. "No, he's so much more."

He walked over the doctor, outstretching a hand. The doctor looked at him stunned, as if seeing his symbols and eyes for the first time.

He touched the doctor's wound, the flesh boiling and repairing itself almost immediately. Then he grabbed the doctor, giving him a direct link to his mind.

Charlemagne grinned, seeing exactly what he wanted to see. The doctor was more than just a walking bandage applicator. He saw wild experiments the likes of which he had never seen before, horrific and wonderful creations that defied all reason. He saw hatred, hatred for those who scorned him and his work. He saw pure madness.

"Thank you for letting me in," whispered Charlemagne.

Then, with a mental push like shoving a boulder, he injected power into him.

Shiro gasped, all the blood vessels on his face glowing a bright pink color. His body seized up, but did not move from his hand, the doctor staring at him in awe. Charlemagne kept feeding him energy, grinning widely.

"I sense the madness within," he whispered, feeding him as much power as the man's body could contain. "You do not have to be afraid anymore. You can be whoever you wish to be now."

He released the man, Shiro collapsing to the ground. The doctor was smoking, his body slowly going back to its original color. He was panting, exhausted.

"Doctor?! What is going on?!" screamed the man on the throne. "What did he do to you?!"

"Shut up," snapped Shiro calmly, standing up. He stood straight, glancing at the man on the throne. He looked just like he had before, no evidence of what had just happened present.

Then his eyes turned bright pink, veins spouting the same color running all the way down his face.

"Just shut up," whispered the doctor.

He moved like lightning, grabbing the man by the arm. The man on the throne stopped, before noticing his arm was distorting itself as if being broken. He cried out, his arm splitting and turning into itself.

"What are you…?!" he began before the same distortion effect reached his body, shattering his ribs and spinal cord as they curled into a ball. His legs and other arm did the same, contorting him into a ball-like shape made of flesh and bone. He finally stopped screaming when he was perfectly circular, steam rising from his body.

The doctor glanced at his hands curiously, eyes wide. "I…rearranged him. I thought it, and…he became…"

"This is my gift," explained Charlemagne grinning. He noted with disdain that his hands were no longer healing, the gift he had given clearly using up more power than he had imagined, but decided that such a price was alright. "I only ask for your loyalty."

"To do what? What are your goals?"

"Why, the same as yours, doctor."

Charlemagne grinned widely. "To shape the world in the image I wish it. So, will you join me?" He outstretched a hand.

The doctor paused for a moment, then grabbed and shook his head. "Deal."

Charlemagne's smile widened, especially when he saw he was immune to the power he had given. Splendid. Just splendid.

* * *

Dr. Zed flipped through the reports calmly, laying each one down in order. "Failed. Failed. Impressively failed."

"Did a single one pass?" asked Lilith astonished.

"Uh…no. I used the standard for Dahl military forces."

"Well that's probably why! Let's use a looser set of rules for military forces!"

"I did. Dahl is the best. Or should I say worst. They allow for slight psychopathic tendencies as well as violent habits and sexual deviations."

"…and they all failed? Even the Eridian?"

"He was the closest, right behind the robot."

"…the robot failed?"

Zed grabbed the report of SHAW, opening it to reveal the contents. "His mental health was splendid, as was his physical, though his took forever to do since he was, you know, mechanical. His emotional health was…nonexistent. He doesn't have emotions, at least in the way we can measure. That put him pretty low."

"…the Eridian?"

"Has something we like to call 'fish out of water' syndrome. He simply is going along with the flow, like Alice in Wonderland, but he doesn't really understand what's going on."

"…the Siren?"

"Intense sadistic desires."

Lilith threw up her hands. "Well great! We're now an insane asylum! And I thought the last generation was bad!"

"To be fair, none of the last group passed the same tests," murmured Zed.

"…you tested them?"

"I tested everyone. You should see the psych profile I have on Tina."

"I really don't," grunted the Siren. She picked up one folder, quickly flipping through it. "…that big belly fellow has a college degree? In English Literature?"

"That's hardly the most surprising. You know that zombie guy? He really does have a number of outstanding jaywalking incidents. Most I've ever seen."

"And he has a criminal record that makes Salvador look like a Jehovah's Witness," grunted the Siren eyeing his profile. "…he's banned in seven solar systems? Seven?!"

"What's a system or seven?" argued Zed grinning. "If you don't want to clog your arteries, do not glance at that Mason fellow. Those sketches I got from him would make Vincent van Gogh look stable."

"And is there anyone who is even slightly normal?"

"…Elijah Kato had an outstanding score on the mental and emotional quiz. His only penalty was his criminal record, where he's banned from an entire solar system."

"The black samurai? He pissed off some daimyo or something?"

"That's likely exactly what happened. Uh…stable people… Ling is a bit of an egoist, but he's alright. Oh, by the way, that Doctor Richter is a woman."

Lilith paused, holding up a finger for a second. She took a sip from her beer, then spat it dramatically.

"That…bitch!" shouted the Siren. "She…he…they…didn't say anything!"

"Why does that matter?" asked Zed. "Who cares if the doctor is a man or a woman?"

"I do! It matters when I'm pairing these idiots up! What if I attached her to some misogynist or wife beater? By the way, did we see any signs of that?"

"Not any that I could detect. A few are sadists, but that's a generalized thing and not directed to a particular group."

"Well, that's good. Also, is she hot?"

"…I didn't see anything. I let Nurse Nina take over. Seemed only polite and all. Oh, and she is a carrier of a highly toxic disease."

"Oh well that's, wait, what?"

"It's an airborne virus that causes corrosive sputum. Acid spit, basically. We can temporarily stall it through a few chemical treatments, but there is no cure."

"Oh…so is she hot?"

Zed sighed, rubbing his temples in exasperation. "Back to the real world, we have to make a decision. From a professional standpoint, every single one of them is a basket case and shouldn't be trusted with heavy machinery, let alone guns."

"And on a realistic standpoint?"

"…we need to hire every single one of them."

Lilith groaned, crushing the beer can in her fist. "…approved. We need them."

"Good," stated Zed. "I'll get the paperwork signed. I think we should celebrate."

"Celebrate? You know what, why bloody not? Let's all go down to Moxxi's for drinks."

Suddenly the doorway to her office flooded with bodies, each person trying to cram themselves into it.

"I heard drinks!" shouted Mordecai.

"I heard Moxxi's!" yelled Axton.

"I HEARD ALL!" roared Krieg.


	4. Chapter 4: The Bartender

**The New Generation**

"Turn it up!" yelled Walden Stormbelly, holding a massive glass mug full of ale above his head.

The Vault Hunters, new and old, smacked their glasses together and doused it in their gullets.

"Armored man? Where is your friend?" asked the massive giant rubbing his belly. "He should be here!"

"Well Robert can't get drunk, so he fails to see the point," grunted Svyatogor.

"Thank God Mason abstained too," murmured Amber quietly. "I'd hate to dirty such a nice bar."

"Thanks sugar," stated Moxxi winking at her across the bar. She loved the new addition to her bar, especially their money, and she noticed the rather attractive members of the group brought more people in to spend more money too.

"Well it doesn't surprise me that SHAW didn't come, seeing as he's, you know, robotic," murmured Tiberius. "Your culture though, is…confusing."

He held up his beer. "This substance is toxic on a molecular level, and produces mental degradation as both short term and long term effects. Why do you willingly drink it?"

"It bonds us together!" explained Walden posing dramatically on a chair. "With our inhibitions lowered, common enemies become friends, and friends become brothers! It is the greatest of…!"

The chair splintered below him, the big man hitting the ground and actually bouncing. The bar went silent, all glancing with worried looks.

Walden stood up, letting out a bellowing whoop. "I'm okay!"

The bar cheered, grateful to see the center of the party had not been injured.

Tiberius glanced at the drink, shrugging. "Whatever. Might as well experience culture directly."

He sipped the drink, pausing to raise his eyebrows. "This is absolutely disgusting. I love it."

He kept drinking.

Beatrice pushed her beer aside. "I love a good brew, but I am a classy lady. Do you serve cocktails?"

"Well, not me sugar, but I got just the guy," stated Moxxi. "Jerry! Get your sweet ass in here!"

A man appeared from the backroom, wearing a dirty old stripped suit. He was smoking a cigarette, placing it in the ash tray at the bar.

"Of course ma'am," spoke the man smiling. He had a long vertical scar running from above his right eyebrow down to his cheek, having taken the eye as well.

He approached Beatrice, shining a tumbler and glass. "What will you have, my lady?"

"A Manhattan."

"Hmm, had you figured as a mojito kind of woman."

"I haven't seen a single episode of Sex and the City, so I don't like mojitos."

"Fair enough."

Jerry rapidly began to fill his tumbler with the ingredients, his hands like lightning across the bar. The others stared at him in wonder, the bartender working almost literal magic. In just under a minute, he had a full Manhattan on the bar, sliding it to Beatrice.

"Enjoy," said the bartender smirking.

Beatrice glanced at the drink cautiously, then sipped it. Her eyes widened, staring at him in amazement.

"…that's the greatest drink I've ever had," she said honestly.

Jerry grinned. "I'm glad to satisfy my customers."

"Okay womanizer, quit showing off," snapped Walden. "Long Island Iced Tea. Extra long."

"Certainly."

Moxxi smiled as she watched him work, greatly pleased. "I found Jerry a few months ago. He's the best mixer I've ever seen, better than me honestly. The girls go crazy for his drinks."

"I think it might be his face," grunted Elijah.

"Oh, he's cute, yes, but his drinks are something else."

"It's all practice," assured Jerry as he made the Long Island Iced Tea, not at all distracted by talking. "You do something enough, it becomes easy."

A few Vault Hunters sat by themselves, trying to socialize with these strangers as best they could.

"So…you come here often?" asked Ling awkwardly.

"That's the best you got?" inquired Amber blandly. "Why not hit on the Siren?"

"Likely doesn't want his giblets burned off," murmured John. "Besides her, you're the only girl."

"What about the doctor?"

"Who, Darth Vader? Most people prefer not having a face full of bubonic plaque, thanks."

Amber rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Look, if any of you idiots keep hitting on me, I'm going to kneecap you before implanting a gunpowder castration. Get that?"

"Sounds fair to me," grunted John. "I got plenty of fangirls just wanting to bounce on me anyway. Helps when you're the best damn dunker this side of the galaxy."

Ling nodded. "Understood. So, what are your hobbies?"

Amber pulled out a pistol. "What did I just say?"

"Platonic! Purely platonic!"

She sighed, sipping her beer. "I like street hockey."

"…really?"

"Bloody love it. Best damn sport there is. Desperate guys sneaking a feel is annoying, but nothing is better than beating the snot out of somebody on skates."

"I love street hockey! There's a neighborhood game going on this Saturday, want to come?"

"As long as you don't mind scraping yourself off the pavement. I play dirty."

John didn't like being left out, so he interjected himself into the conversation. "So this hockey, do you dunk?"

"Not even a little bit," snapped Amber.

"…I don't comprehend."

"Oh my God," muttered Ling rubbing his head.

Walden turned to Elijah, smirking. "So old friend, you still seeing that Kimiko girl?"

"Kiyoki, and we broke up half a year ago," explained Elijah. "It didn't go over well with her dad. I'm sort of banned from the entire Osaka solar system now."

Walden laughed. "Well, you weren't always the best with words!"

He raised his glass. "To wars and women! May we have as few of the first and as many of the second!"

"Amen to that," grunted Elijah clacking his glass with his.

"You two are friends?" asked Jerry curiously.

"We met a few years ago," explained Elijah. "I was a bodyguard for a fat cat on some shoddy no man's land, he was touring the bars. When you drink with a man, then fight with him, then fight the police off with that same man, you become brothers."

"You humans are so weird," murmured Tiberius, having overheard bits of the conversation.

* * *

 **Nihilism**

Jerry sat in the alleyway smoking, casually leaning against a dumpster. He was tapping his foot to an unknown rhythm, almost random in a way.

"You should try to hide better," he said absently. "I can smell you from here."

A man in white approached from the darkness of the alley, smiling faintly. His eyes were glowing a dull pink shade, just enough to show in the limited light.

"Well, I can't hardly help but to admire my work," spoke Professor Shiro grinning. "How do you like the gift?"

Jerry smirked, his eye flashing a bright gold for a second. "It's really nice. I've never made better drinks."

"…I'm assuming you plan on using it for more than just slinging cocktails, right?"

"In time. Please, I can't do anything crazy. My job is intelligence. I have to maintain the disguise."

"Of course. So, what can you reveal about these soldiers? Are they are a big threat?"

"They're very strong," stated Jerry. "As strong as the King…doubtful. Hard to tell. Not all twelve appeared today."

"Hmm…so not hundreds like that man in the hole said…"

Jerry laughed. "Are you crazy? That was all posturing. These people are scraps. Good ones, no doubt, but scraps before dogs."

"Typical of humans, I guess."

Jerry's eye turned to a deep blue, glaring at Shiro with intense anger. "Don't underestimate us humans, asshole."

Jerry shook his head, his eye returning to their gold color. He laughed, trying to clear his head. "Bloody hell, this guy…he's one strong bartender. I feel him scratching in my skull, even now."

Shiro nodded, slightly concerned. "Can you control him?"

"Oh, sure. He's just some bartender after all. Nothing that special."

"…very well. Keep up the good work Jerry. We expect more information later."

"Of course. Have a good day doctor."

The doctor vanished into the alleyway, Jerry flicking his cigarette away. He stood, dusting himself off. "Well, time to get back to work."

* * *

 **Walden, Elijah, and Co.**

Walden practically carried Elijah into their apartment complex, the smaller dark-skinned gentleman having drank far too much for his body to handle. The big man didn't even notice the weight of his friend, easily able to drag him along.

"Man…you really can drink anyone…under the table…" whispered the samurai.

"Damn right! It's a matter of pride for me!"

They entered their apartment, the musty space being shared by their team. There were three teams of four for the Vault Hunters, and they had been carefully evaluated to make sure they were as compliable as possible. Unfortunately, as possible was definitely the main stickler.

"Hey doctor!" exclaimed Walden grinning widely. "You…look as lovely as ever!"

"Who told you I was a girl?" asked Doctor Richter calmly, her synthesized voice still disguising her gender. She was seated on the couch reading, feet kicked up on the coffee table.

"…a couple people."

Richter sighed, putting aside her book. "Yes, I am female. I possess the DNA and body parts to prove it. No, you cannot see the parts unless I take my medication to get out of this suit so I don't kill you all."

"I never would've asked!" shouted Walden. He paused, realizing that sentence could've been misinterpreted. "Well, not that I think you're unattractive! Well, I can't really tell because of, you know, the suit, but I'm sure you are very attractive underneath the suit! Not that you aren't now…uh…this is awkward."

"I'm having fun," grunted Elijah smirking.

Richter let out a chuckle, the noise slightly human even with an artificial voice. "Thank you for the…compliments Walden. You are ever the gentleman."

Walden held up a box of brew bottles. "I got something for you! Moxxi's own brew! You can tell by the red heart and large pair of breasts on the label!"

"Well she knows how to advertise," grunted Richter.

"How about we drink together?" offered Walden. "Drinking on your own is just…sad really. Drinking with people counts as a social activity!"

"Nope! Not doing it!" shouted Elijah staggering up and leaning against the wall. "I am already going to die in the morning! I do not want to make it worse!"

"Sissy!" yelled Walden. "What about our fourth member? Who is it, anyway?"

Richter suddenly got uncomfortable. She looked away, tapping on her hat.

"Uh…we got hooked with the psycho."

"Psycho?" inquired Elijah heading to his bedroom. "Isn't that guy already employed?"

"Not Krieg. Mason Maliwan. That guy Amber tried to kill."

"Oh," grunted Walden. "Well, where is he?"

"In his room…painting. I didn't want a further look."

Walden grunted, walking to the room. "Well, I will. It's rude not to offer!"

He knocked on the door to Mason's room, his fist large enough to engulf the doorknob. "Mason?! You in here?! You awake?!"

"Go away," spoke a flat voice from behind the door. "I'm working."

"Come on! I got some beer out here! Want to join in?"

The door opened, Walden stepping back as a figure occupied the doorway. The figure was completely naked save for his mask, exposing the massive array of scars on his entire body. Most worryingly, a few lines were currently bleeding, a steady stream running down his body.

"I do not want to join," spoke Mason blandly, though his body language wasn't calm or composed like normal. He was panting, his eyes frenzied and trance-like in manner. He seemed like a man possessed, though with what Walden could not place.

"…why are you bleeding? And naked?" asked Walden alarmed.

"I had a thought. If I used my blood for the paint base, my paintings would be more personal."

"Okay…and naked?"

"…my pants got tight."

"…I'm going to walk away now, and leave you to…this."

"Thank you Walden."

Mason slammed the door, Walden slowly backing away and walking into the living room. He sat down, cracking open a beer.

"Well…that was possibly the grossest thing I've ever seen," grunted Walden.

"He was smaller last time," murmured Richter calmly.

"…you saw him before?"

"Why do you think I tried to stop you?"

Walden sighed, gulping down the beer. "Okay, so…you going to drink? I feel a bit like a schmuck."

Richter nodded, pulling out a metal square case. "Give me a moment."

She opened the case, revealing a series of syringes filled with a pale yellow compound. She picked one up, inspecting is visually before sliding the needle into a small hole in her suit along the forearm. She injected it, grunting audibly as the compound filled her veins. "Kicks like a mule, every time."

She sat for a minute, letting it hit her system. Then, she grasped at her mask, but not before pausing.

"…this isn't the part where you try to seduce me, is it?" asked Richter cautiously. "Because if this is supposed to be some bullshit romantic moment, I'm going to bed."

Walden held up his hands. "Hey, I may be one hell of a womanizer, but we're partners. Pure platonic, swear to on my sweet mother's casserole."

"Casserole?"

"If you tasted it, you'd know how holy it is."

Richter shrugged. "Screw it."

She began to take it off, but held up a hand. "Just a reminder: I don't wear makeup or anything. I may look a bit…ragged."

"Hey, not judging. In case you haven't noticed, I'm not the most flattering sight." He slapped his massive belly to accentuate the point.

Richter removed the mask, revealing her lower face. Her skin was deathly pale, the same color as ash-covered snow, and her lips were only slightly pink to distinguish them. Her teeth were clean, if slightly yellowed, though she had a few missing.

She removed her goggles, exposing her eyes were a faint green color, as well as her pale blonde eyebrows. Removing her hat confirmed she was a pale blonde, her hair almost white from either disease or age.

Richter smiled, glancing at him. "So…how do I look?"

Walden grinned. "A bit ragged."

She shoved him, laughing. "Hand me a beer asshole."

* * *

 **Svyatogor, Robert, and Co.**

"Ugh," groaned Svyatogor laying on the couch, grabbing his stomach. "I drank way too much."

"And this is why you should stop drinking," stated Robert, as sober as ever. "You should really burn people as a hobby. It's safe, environmental, and best of all, no hangovers."

"I concur, armored man," spoke Tiberius on the other couch, grasping at his chest. "I underestimated the effect this…alcohol has on people. After seeing the large one drink so much, I assumed it was simply based on willpower. Apparently, it's more experience than anything."

"Scrubs," snapped Amber downing another bottle, only buzzed.

"Woman, how are you not affected?" asked Tiberius.

"Practice. And the only thing that really gets me buzzed is tequila."

"Take notes on this," stated Robert jotting down in a notebook.

She glared at him. "Sorry, but I'm not into undead, even if you plugged a whole case of bottles into me."

"I'm playing wingman for my friend here," elaborated the zombie pointing to the paladin. "He hasn't gotten any action for so long, I'm amazed his gonads haven't blown off from internal pressure."

"That's because I am a holy paladin in His Holiness's service," argued Svyatogor. "We renounce sexual pleasures."

"And not drinking? Well, I guess you have to have something to take the edge off being insatiable assholes."

Amber rolled her eyes. "Not much into religious nutbags anyway. Your friend shouldn't bother."

"Well I will persist for him!" shouted Robert heroically.

"No need to yell," grunted Tiberius. "We are in the same room, undead man."

* * *

 **Ling, Havoc, and Co.**

"Green seven," spoke Ling laying down a card.

"Red seven," stated Beatrice.

"Blue seven," said SHAW.

John leaped from his chair with a dramatic flourish, slamming down his card as if dunking a basketball, nearly throwing their drinks from the table. "Yellow seven! Uno!"

"Bloody hell, control your damn dunking urges!" yelled Beatrice.

"You're just mad since I'm winning!"

"That is a logical response to someone else winning in a game," explained SHAW.

"Shut up iRobot."

"You know what I could go for?" asked Ling. "I could really go for some enchiladas."

"I'm not the only one?" inquired John. "Let's get enchiladas!"

"There's only one Truxican restaurant in this city, and it's closed," spoke Beatrice.

"How do you know?"

"It's 2 in the morning."

"…is the 7-11 open?"

"7-11 doesn't serve enchiladas!" argued Beatrice, now frustrated with the denseness of her new work partner.

"Shoot," grunted John pouting. "Think we could mail order enchiladas?"

"What? That's crazy," spoke Ling.

"You can," spoke SHAW, having looked up the question with his personal computer built into his head. "It's precisely $20.56 for a box of eight red chili enchiladas."

"I'm buying!" yelled John pulling out his wallet. "Hey, do you take credit cards?"

"Yes."

A few moments later, SHAW buzzed out a receipt from his shoulder. "Here you go. It will take approximately three weeks for the enchiladas to arrive."

"…oh. Didn't think that through."

Beatrice laughed, holding onto her gut to steady herself. "Nice twenty bucks, moron! Unless you got a time travel machine in your pocket, it'll be far too long before we have those enchiladas!"

John sighed, rubbing his hair. "Man…I need another drink after that."

"Here you go," stated Ling handing one over.


	5. Chapter 5: The Slave

**Lilith and Co.**

Lilith glanced at the teams assembled before her skeptically, now wearing her full military uniform. Having designated herself as General for all Crimson Raider forces, she wore a large red military coat with a matching commissar hat, though she wore her normal shirt below it with crimson pants. Her orange/red hair accented the outfit rather well, making her appear as if she had stepped into an inferno, though she loathed having this much clothing on. Her Siren blood made her prone to overheating, and she was already sweating even in the air conditioned room.

"Alright, listen up!" she shouted, catching their attention. "I split you all up into three teams of four to make sure you can support one another efficiently, basing your positions on personality and preferences. I hope you're beginning to at least attempt to get along with the members of your unit."

"Nope," spoke Robert. "Still want to kill them."

"That's actually pretty normal for you," argued Svyatogor.

"Shut up."

Lilith rolled her eyes. "Anyway, I'm turning it over to Tiberius, one of our newest members, to explain exactly what is going on."

Tiberius walked from his group and stood at the front of the room, rubbing his hands over his bald grey head. "Well…this is odd. For those of you still doubting it, yes, I am Eridian."

"Can you read minds?" asked John.

"What?"

"In a lot of movies I saw, aliens could read minds."

"That's true!" exclaimed Ling. "What am I thinking right now?"

"I didn't think you were capable of thinking," murmured Beatrice looking up at the ceiling.

"Tacos?" guessed Havoc.

"How did you know?" asked Ling astonished.

"Get on with it!" shouted Amber annoyed. "Let him speak!"

Tiberius nodded in appreciation at her before continuing. "When the last generation of Vault Hunters fought and defeated the Warrior, they revealed a huge number of Vaults throughout our entire universe. That's the good news. The bad news is, they woke something else, setting in a chain of events that the Watcher warned us about."

"Who?" asked Elijah.

"An Eridian like myself. He warned of a war coming, and we had to be ready for it."

"A war with what?" inquired Walden cautiously.

"The King. An immensely powerful Eridian. His purpose was to emerge if the Warrior had ever been defeated, as whoever had done so clearly was powerful enough to be useful."

"What?" asked Mordecai rubbing his head. "Is he thinking on recruiting us? For what? How?"

"He's not planning on using you, at least, technically," spoke Tiberius. "The King is going to kill every single person on this planet and use their souls to resurrect the sleeping Eridians within the planet."

Everyone paused for a long period of time, letting that information sink in.

"…excuse me, what?" inquired Lilith astonished.

"The King absorbs the souls of those he kills into him. He can use those souls to resurrect ancient Eridians from their slumber. Particularly powerful souls can be used multiple times. He's going to turn all of us into human batteries before going out and doing the same to every planet with a Vault."

"What's the end goal?" questioned Axton.

"The total annihilation of every race save for Eridians. Once they're all awake, they will rebuild their civilization to its former glory."

"…well shit," grunted Maya.

"Yeah," murmured Tiberius.

"So what are you?" asked Elijah cautiously. "You're an Eridian. Are you working with him?"

"I am an Eridian, and you have every right to be afraid of me," spoke Tiberius. "However, I am not working with him or even supporting him. My race had its chance long ago, and squandered it. It is time to give another race a chance."

"So what do you want?" inquired Amber.

"To stop King, and be a guide for humans," stated the Eridian, his voice dripping with passion. "Your culture is odd, your people are violent and short-sighted, and you're far uglier than I thought possible…but you deserve a chance."

Lilith smiled. "Thank you, Tiberius. So, what can you tell us about the King?"

"Well, apparently his original body has crumbled to nothingness," explained Tiberius. "Otherwise, he never would've taken over a human host. It's a matter of pride. However, his power clearly has maintained over the eons, as evidenced by your friend Axton."

"Maintained my ass," murmured Axton. "I've never seen something that strong."

"He will get stronger," spoke the Eridian. "But not immediately. The King isn't stupid. He knows he is but one unit, and he needs allies. He cannot be everywhere or know everything, and numbers, no matter how insignificant each unit may be, can overwhelm him."

"So he'll be recruiting allies?" asked Gaige logically.

"Recruiting isn't the best term. Brainwashing is closer. The King is able to plant a portion of his power into other beings, either enhancing the abilities they already had or granting them new ones."

"Sounds generous," noted Robert.

"It is, until he takes it back. If that person dies, or if the King simply wants to, he can take back the power he gave as well as the person's soul as well. This multiplies the power he had given, with the longer amount of time the person's power was given increasing its potency. In essence, he's lending you the power and taking it back, with interest."

"Use and toss aside, where does that sound familiar?" jested Gaige with a smirk.

"I think he wore a mask?" grunted Salvador, going along with the jest.

"This one known as King/Makes my very armor itch/I long for the fight," spoke Zer0 simply, his voice laden with malicious intent.

"What can we do to weaken him?" inquired Lilith.

Tiberius gave a long thought to that question. "…besides us getting stronger? Not many options. If we went and tried to fight him now, he would crush us handedly."

"What if all of us fought?" asked the Siren. "Every Crimson Raider and Vault Hunter."

"…thirty percent."

"Of failure?" inquired Mordecai.

"No. Of success."

Walden whistled in astonishment. "Bloody hell, that's not good odds."

"I wouldn't bet on that," murmured Amber in agreement.

Lilith gritted her teeth in exasperation. "There has to be something we can do. Some obscure prophecy, a super weapon, anything."

"Unfortunately, we didn't think we wanted to stop the King," grunted Tiberius. "Thankfully, we got one advantage. We know where we're going to strike."

He went over to the map, placing small dots on various places in the landscape. "Each of these dots are major civilian centers, settled by corporations outside of Pandora. Tediore, Maliwan, Jakobs, and Vladof. He will target them first."

"Why?" inquired Lilith.

"They're densely populated, the largest on the continent. He needs human souls to revive Eridian soldiers, so he'll do his best to get as many souls as he can."

"Will he be there?"

"No. He's ruthless, not stupid. He'll utilize his elite soldiers to slay the entire town quickly. If they take too long, the civilians may leave, and they'd have to spend time hunting them down. He'll likely use two soldiers, so they can back the other up. I'd send a team of Vault Hunters to each city immediately. If we wait too long, we'll be too late to stop the slaughter."

Lilith nodded. "Gaige, Axton, go with Team Orange. Krieg, Maya, Team Purple. Salvador, Zer0, with Team Green."

"We had colors?" asked Robert astonished. "Man, I should've made T-shirts! By the way, what colors are we?"

"Robert, Svyatogor, Tiberius, and Amber are Team Orange," explained Lilith. "Walden, Elijah, Richter, and Mason are Team Purple. Beatrice, Ling, Havoc, and SHAW are Team Green."

"Cool, I get the guy who got his ass kicked!" yelled the zombie.

"This is going to be a long mission," murmured Axton looking at the ceiling.

"What about us, Lil?" inquired Brick.

"Me, you, and Mordecai are going after the fourth one."

"Sweet," grunted Mordecai smirking.

Lilith grinned, now excited to get back into business. "We head out in two days. Any questions? Dismissed!"

* * *

 **Zealotry**

The sun hurt.

The slave wrapped himself tighter in the rags he had collected and hurried along, feeling the intense blast of the sun on the rough skin over him. He couldn't even look up to see it, focusing solely on the shadow before him, as it was the only place he could look without him hurting.

He had been so used to the darkness that the first three days had nearly killed him. The sheer brightness of, well everything really, hurt so bad he thought his brain would just explode from sensory input. Thankfully, he had gotten used to it by the fourth day, though he couldn't look up. Looking up would send lightning bolts of pain directly into his head, nearly causing him to collapse.

"Bloody raiders…" he whispered to himself as he walked, his throat parched. His water had dried up after the first two days, and he had to find more, somehow. Even though he couldn't see further than ten feet ahead. Even though he had no food or money. Even though he was nursing an old wound from escaping the attack on the camp. He had to keep walking, or else…

He gulped. He couldn't think about that. Thinking about that would kill him faster.

He heard a noise behind him, whirling to face it and immediately wishing he hadn't. The sun was that way, and he could not look at whatever was in front of him. He could however, see some sort of humanoid shape standing a few feet away, blocking a section of sunlight to form a shadow over him.

"W-who's there?" he asked unsteadily. He put a hand into his shirt to pretend he had a firearm, even though he didn't. "S-stand back! I'm armed!"

Suddenly the figure dashed over to him, standing face to face with him. He was so shocked he collapsed onto his backside, holding up his hands defensively to block the sun.

"Mercy!" he begged the figure, not even able to see it clearly. "Please! Mercy!"

The figure stared down at him, not wavering. Now that he completely blocked the sun, he could make out some of the man's features. He was wearing a long brown robe made of rough wool, flowing in the heavy winds of The Dust. He was carrying a wooden staff, leaning on it slightly as if he were tired. His face was still obscured, though his eyes seemed to glow a faint white color.

"…who are you?" asked the figure.

The slave looked up at him. "I…I have no name…I am but a slave…"

The figure paused. "Slave…slave…what is that term?"

"Uh…slave…I was…owned…"

The figure stiffened, as if in rage. "Owning…a person…what has this world come to? You cannot own a person."

The slave looked at him confused. "Are you…a raider?"

"I was," explained the figure. "And you were once a slave. I guess we both are different, now, from past events that changed us."

"…my owner's camp was attacked…I escaped…but now…do you have water? I am so thirsty…please…just a drop…"

"I have no water to offer, nor food or shelter. What I have to offer is far greater."

The figure stretched out a hand. "Take my hand, and you shall never again grow thirsty, or hungry, or tired. Take my hand, and I shall save you."

The slave paused, now unsure. But, deciding he had little choice, took the man's hand.

Instantly he gasped, his hand crackling with electricity. He couldn't let go, every muscle tensing and tightening in a mad frantic state. He didn't even bother blocking the sun because everything else hurt worse. It hurt more than anything else he had ever experienced wrapped into one moment, every inch full of pain.

Then it stopped hurting, the slave collapsing. But before he hit the ground, the figure caught him in an embrace, his arms thin but strong around his body.

"I have you, my child," whispered the figure. His embrace was gentle, like a parent hugging an offspring. "It is I who am truly blessed this day, for I have found one of my children, who have long gone astray."

The slave took a moment to realize he wasn't hungry anymore. He wasn't thirsty either, or even tired. He felt powerful, as if he had been pumped full of adrenaline mixed with lightning. He leaned back, staring at the man's face in wonder.

"What…what are you?"

"I am the shepherd, here to lead my people into their former glory. But I cannot do so alone. I require men beneath me, but not slaves. Stand by me, and you shall a man once again. You shall be my most sacred child, alongside brothers and sisters like you."

The figure removed his hood, exposing his grey skin and glowing lines. "So tell me, what is your name, my son?"

The slave looked at him, tears running down his face. He could only think of one name.

"Elisai (God is my salvation)," whispered the slave.

The figure smiled, his mind translating the name. This man, Elisai, saw him as something akin to a God. Excellent.


	6. Chapter 6: The Abomination and Protecter

**King Charlemagne and His Subjects**

Charlemagne looked at the piece of clothing skeptically, holding it as if it was covered in plague. "…are you certain this is the height of fashion, Radiohead?"

"Of course, my homie!" shouted the young man, tapping his foot to the music from his speakers. His entire torso was covered in electronic equipment as well as his arms, a majority of it speakers or musical production tools. "You gonna look fly!"

"Fly?" repeated the man next to him, dressed in a huge variety of golden jewelry and loose clothing. "Man, you so full of shit. If your lingo was any more out of date, we'd dig you out of an archaeological site. No offense boss."

"None taken, Cold Bling," stated Charlemagne glancing once again at the black denim jeans. They were the right length for his new body, but far too tight for his preference. "Why is this garment so restrictive? It provides no armored protection, so it is not a military uniform, and the tightness makes it near-impossible to utilize the pockets."

"It's a punk thing," argued Cold Bling, adjusting his massive golden chain around his neck. "Or emo, or Goth, or whatever the hell the term is now."

"Better than those rags you gave him!" snapped Radiohead defensively.

"What's wrong with my threads, bro?"

"Those things were three sizes too big! He looked like a boy trying to wear his daddy's clothes! Oh, wait, do you know that metaphor?"

"That is racist! I knew my father very well!"

Radiohead held up his hands. "Okay, okay, I take that one back! But you still have no fashion sense!"

"Says the guy with a whole Best Buy on his chest!"

"Says the guy with a whole Jared's the Galleria of Jewelry around his neck!"

Charlemagne sighed, glancing at the third member with him. "Tell me your opinion, Norman. Which should I pick?"

The man, Norman, was incredibly thin and tall, like a starved giant, and wore all black. Every inch of skin save his eyes were covered with black leather save his face, which was covered with an iron mask. His eyes remained uncovered through, revealing they were a hard cruel shade of blue.

Norman pointed to the black pants with an outstretched gloved finger.

"Well of course he likes those!" shouted Cold Bling exasperated. "He loves black! That's all I see him wear!"

"Norman has impeccable fashion sense!" dissuaded Radiohead.

Charlemagne smiled. "Well, two out of three. I have to go with it I guess."

He walked up to the counter at Lukewarm Subject, placing it near the register. "I would like to purchase these…pants? They're called pants, right?"

"Yes," spoke the cashier, scanning the pants. He glanced at Charlemagne curiously. "…why are you…grey?"

"Cigarettes," answered Charlemagne dryly. He had asked Radiohead for a clever response to that very question, and the musician had recommended that one. He didn't understand the joke, but the others thought it was funny, so he kept at it.

"Oh. Well, enjoy your purchase sir."

Charlemagne handed over a wad of cash, having counted it precisely, before walking off. His associates followed, flanking him like bodyguards.

"Ah, I cannot wait to incinerate this entire establishment and build over its ashes," spoke the King smirking.

The mall was a massive complex owned by the Tediore corporation, built alongside a few housing projects for the company. They had illegally began setting up shop since Hyperion left, but nothing large enough to begin colonizing. Tediore was mostly just interested in harvesting as much Eridium as they could without getting into trouble with the Crimson Raiders or the bandits. So far, they had succeeded.

"I hate malls," grunted Cold Bling annoyed.

"Is there anything you do not hate, Cold Bling?" asked Radiohead.

"I don't hate pizza."

"No one hates pizza! Even Norman likes pizza!"

Norman nodded in agreement.

"I think I could go for one of those meat and bread cylinders," stated Charlemagne absently.

"A burrito?" inquired Radiohead.

"No, these are flatter, and have tomatoes and lettuce…"

"Oh, a hamburger!"

"Yes, a hamburger."

"I could go for a Big Mister," grunted Cold Bling rubbing his stomach.

Norman gave a thumbs-up, showing his support.

"It's decided then!" shouted Radiohead. "Let's go!"

They walked to the food court of the mall, stepping up to the Mister Donald's hamburger stand.

"Four Big Misters, man," stated Radiohead. "I'll cover this."

"Thank you," spoke Charlemagne appreciating. "I can only create so much fake cash."

"You should ask Jerry for more," argued Cold Bling. "He can make stuff, right?"

"That is the basics of his power, yes," stated the King. "He is an alchemist. He can convert one thing into another, so long as mass and energy is equivalent."

"Well, it's a shame the food he makes sucks," grunted Cold Bling. "His drinks are great, but he couldn't make a hot dog that doesn't taste like piss to save his life."

The four of them took their food and sat down, beginning to chow down. Radiohead didn't though, staring intently at Norman.

Norman noticed this, pointing at the musician and writing a question mark in the air.

"I want to see you eat!" snapped Radiohead. "I've never seen anything save your eyes, and it bugs the hell out of me! Eat!"

"You're making this incredibly awkward, man," noted Cold Bling rolling his eyes.

Norman picked up his burger and lifted it up to his mask. Then the burger passed straight through the mask, a ripple passing through it as if it were made of water.

"An illusion," spoke Cold Bling grinning. "Clever."

Radiohead pouted. "Damn it. You're no fun."

Norman smiled, or at least it seemed like it. The wrinkles around his eyes tightened, his eyes closing slightly as well.

Charlemagne chuckled, slurping down a cola before glancing at it in astonishment. "Honestly, you people drink this compound? It's so…tingly. I feel like I'm drinking gasoline half the time."

"Don't look too close at the ingredients," murmured Radiohead. "You'll wish you were drinking gasoline."

Charlemagne gazed at the cola cautiously, before taking another sip. "Oh well. I can heal any damage it does, anyway."

"So boss," grunted Cold Bling glancing at him. "Why are you…doing all this? Can't you make anything you need?"

"Yeah, I was wondering that as well," spoke Radiohead. "Seems a bit redundant, no offense."

Charlemagne nodded, munching happily at his burger. "You are correct. There's no practical reason for these exercises. Simply, I prefer to know a civilization before I war with it."

"Know thy enemy?" guessed Cold Bling.

"In a way, yes. I see it more as a matter of respect though. If you're going to wipe a people from the earth like metaphorical and literal bacteria, you have a right to understand their culture and people. What I find won't shift my goal, but I didn't come here to get conviction."

He held up his food. "I came here to have a hamburger and buy pants."

The others shrugged, the answer odd but satisfying. In truth, they hardly understood their leader at all, his Eridian mind clearly alien to their own. He was mixing with the human body well, but his goals and personality hadn't changed at all.

They paused as they saw someone run past them, wearing tight black pants and a jean jacket. He was panting heavily, his blonde hair falling with every step of his fast gate.

"My name is Berry Allen…!" he yelled before jumping onto and over the railing beside them.

The four men glanced over and saw the man fall down the seven stories of the mall, slamming into the pavement below with immense force and cracking the surface. Blood and gore flew as high as the fourth story, as if his body had been full of C4, and they could hardly tell what part had been what.

"What is that idiot doing?" asked Cold Bling rolling his eyes.

"Testing out his powers," noted Radiohead casually, as if such a thing happened daily. "Likely testing the limits on it."

They looked back down, immediately noticing how all the blood and gore had vanished, as if vacuumed up by the world's fastest maid. Thirty seconds later, the man came up from the escalator, still running.

"…and I am the fastest man alive…!" he continued before jumping off again.

This process continued several times, each time with a new verse. The cracks in the pavement got wider and wider as his body kept slamming into it, only for him to regenerate and do it all over again.

"…when I was ten my mother was killed by a yellow guy…!"

"…not an Asian, but a guy wearing yellow clothes…!"

"…I'm pretty sure he got them from Sears judging by the tags…!"

"Can you stop that?!" shouted Cold Bling annoyed as he was about to mount the railing, finally tired of it.

"Stop what?" asked the man innocently.

"This…suicide...attempts…" he said finally, deciding attempt was probably the best word to use. "You only got so many lives, you know?"

"I'd have more if those New-U Stations were canon," whispered the man.

"What was that?"

"Nothing! Besides, why do you care?"

"Because I can't concentrate with your damn body smashing into concrete every thirty seconds! It's loud and distracting!"

"I was here first. Get another food court."

Charlemagne raised a hand, both of them stopping obediently.

"Qual, please contain yourself," spoke the King smoothly. "Cold Bling made a valid point. Your power is strong, yes, but you are not completely immortal. You can die, however unlikely it is. Testing the limits on that is alright. Doing so this recklessly is dangerous."

"Yes my liege," said Qual bowing his head. "It will not happen again."

"Thank you. Cold Bling, please continue to eat. You will require your strength."

"I much prefer my luck," noted the gangster chomping on a French fry. "It's gotten me out of more jams than strength."

"Still, please, eat. It would be a waste not to."

Qual sat down with them, grabbing Radiohead's soda and slurping a mouthful down. "So my liege…"

"Please, just Charlemagne," pleaded the King. "That is the name of this vessel, and should be addressed as such."

"Sorry. Charlemagne then. Do you hate these humans?"

"Your tone indicates you do not associate yourself with them any longer."

Qual grinned widely, the metal piercings in his face twitching. "Hey, we're really not anymore. We're too strong to even be called human anymore. Once this is over, we'll all be Eridian anyway. I still wonder though: do you hate humans?"

Charlemagne paused, legitimately considering the question. He twirled his straw thoughtfully, mulling the question over.

"No," he decided finally. "Do not be mistaken. I have seem horrific things about them, as have you all. On that net device or whatever it is called, I researched human history in its entirety, or as much as they possess. Humans are cruel, callous, shallow-minded creatures who kill for imaginary gods or imaginary lines in the sand, and a thousand other stupid reasons."

Charlemagne smiled. "And yet…for every one thing that made my stomach turn, I found ten beautiful things that filled my heart with awe. Music that lit up my very soul, paintings that filled my eyes with tears, stories so wonderful they didn't even seem real…I could go on for days on why humans are a plaque on this universe, but I could go for weeks on why they are a blessing as well."

Cold Bling shifted uncomfortably. "So…will you…spare them?"

"Oh, absolutely not," stated Charlemagne pleasantly. All four men felt a chill at his smile now, still so warm and lively. "I plan on reducing everything they have created to ashes underneath my boots for my civilization to come forth. I spare not a soul in this crusade. Hopefully I will have perfected my process of utilizing souls, so my brethren do not have to associate themselves with the old personas of their new souls."

"…why?" asked Radiohead finally.

Charlemagne's smile broadened. "It's my job. My kind bound me for the specific purpose of returning our civilization to its rightful place once we had foolishly destroyed ourselves. I am simply fulfilling my job."

The four men glanced at one another, their looks a mixture of worry and surprise. They had assumed their leader had a grand and logical reason for his crusade, or at least a reason full of passion and feeling. The reason he had given had the same nonchalance as someone describing a part-time job.

"Now, before I forget," spoke Charlemagne, reaching into his cloak. He pulled out four metal medallions on twine, placing them into the table. The medallions were about the size of a drink coaster and the same shape as well, a seven-pointed star emblazoned on the front. They appeared to be made of grey metal with glowing purple portions, the same substance as the Eridian ruins.

"These medallions are yours," explained the King handing them out to each person. "You will want them when we begin to fight."

"What do they do?" asked Cold Bling holding his up.

"Don't question it, cretin!" snapped Qual harshly, immediately throwing the medallion around his neck. "Our lord said we should wear them, so we should wear them!"

"Is this a name?" inquired Radiohead looking at his. "Haste?"

"My names for you," elaborated Charlemagne. "While it may sound pessimistic, you all represent one negative ideal by Eridian culture. I find knowing one's weaknesses, emotionally and physically, are essential to overcome them."

"Greed…that's fair," murmured Cold Bling.

"Cruelty...definitely agree," stated Qual.

Norman held up his medallion, with Fear etched onto it, and gave a thumbs-up to indicate his agreement.

Charlemagne smiled. "Glad to hear it. Now, let's talk about the plan. I've discussed this with the others save you four. I'm relying on you all."


	7. Chapter 7: The Egoist

**Team Orange, Gaige, Axton**

"Okay, where the fuck are they?!" screamed Gaige frustrated.

Axton glared at her. "Stop causing a scene. We don't want to attract attention."

"From who?! These untouched, not-dead civilians!? Why are we even freaking here?!"

"She has a point," admitted Amber hefting her rifle. "This place looks as peaceful as it could be."

That was true. The town of Neo Petersburg, a Vladof owned city if that wasn't obvious, was completely untouched. People went to work, cars drove through the streets, and every inch of space was creepily void of corpses or debris. Nothing had happened, and nothing was far more unnerving than something.

"Can I cause some destruction?" asked Robert politely. "I'm really bored."

"No," said Svyatogor sighing.

"But Dad! I want to!"

"Not until we're sure these guys are here. After that, try to limit your destruction to around them."

"What about places they may potentially be?"

"No."

"Darn."

Tiberius looked through the crowds of the mall, scanning for anyone he could detect. As an Eridian, he apparently could sense others of his kind, though that claim was to be tested.

"There," spoke the Eridian pointing. "At the food court. There's a guy at a table."

They all turned, noting a single man at a small white table in the food court. He was dressed all in grey, every single portion of his clothing the same dull shade. He was eating a taco, a small soda on his tray as well.

"You sure?" asked Gaige skeptically. "Looks like a normal guy. Weird clothes, but nothing that weird."

"Definitely," stated Tiberius. "He's radiating power like a nuclear reactor."

Axton nodded. "Okay. Robert and Svyatogor, cover the east exit. Gaige, cover the north. Amber and Tiberius, cover the west. I'll go talk to him."

"What?" spoke Gaige astonished. "Why?"

"Well if he goes to fight me, no big deal. We expected that. I want to see how much information I can get from them, and he'd recognize me first."

As if on cue, the grey man looked over and spotted Axton, smiling. To an observant eye, his grin held no warmth or friendliness at all, like that of a shark. "Hey Axton! What's up man!? Come, sit down!"

"Go," ordered Axton sharply. "If he wants to kill me, he can go right ahead. Least that'll stop this subterfuge bullshit."

The others scattered, Axton approaching with professional calm. His rifle was on his back, but he decided to keep it there for the moment. Best not to start a scene.

The grey man smiled at him, sipping his soda casually. Up close, he saw his eyes were actually multicolored, like a rainbow, and seemed to shift constantly. Obviously a side effect of Charlemagne's power.

"It's good to see you," said the man friendly. "It is Axton, right?"

"Yes," he answered calmly, sitting down. "I'm afraid I don't know your name."

"Oh, well my lord calls me Vanity, but my real name is Bel Girard," answered the grey man. "Hey, you want to get yourself something? I got a few bucks left."

"I'm good," spoke Axton coldly.

Bel shrugged, munching into his taco. "Your loss."

"Why do you want to talk to me?"

Bel held up a hand, finishing chewing before speaking. "On a personal level, I wanted to see the guy who got his ass kicked by Charlemagne. Really helps my confidence, seeing the guy who got smacked around like a ragdoll by my boss."

"Funny you need a confidence boost, considering you're called Vanity," snapped Axton, his voice laced with venom.

"Hey, Vanity is a fragile thing," argued Bel shrugging. "On a professional note, Charlemagne wanted to explain our intentions. I have the feeling, and he shares this, that you all have the wrong idea on what we want."

"Kill everyone and revive the Eridians."

Bel raised an eyebrow, clapping his hands once. "Impressive. You hit the nail on the head. Tell me, who told you?"

"Tiberius. He's an Eridian too."

"And he willingly told you? Hmm. That's concerning."

"Unlike your boss, he's not a delusional psychopath."

Bel's eyes narrowed, his fists tightening until they were white. "I will allow that once. Speak another foul thing about my boss, and I'll kill you right here."

"Try me. Why haven't you already done it? I haven't noticed any dead civilians yet."

Bel chuckled, sipping his soda to calm himself down. "Tell me Mr. Axton, how many people do you think live in this town?"

"Two thousand one hundred and seven," answered Axton mechanically.

"Oh? Wow, you really are smart. Correct. You earn a gold star."

He pulled out a small sticker page and handed him a small golden star sticker. Axton glared at him, so Bel put it away before continuing.

"You are completely correct of course. How many Eridians do you think there are on this planet?"

Axton shrugged. He had no idea to be honest.

"Two million, seven hundred fifty three thousand, eight hundred and twelve. Now do you need a sheet of paper to see the disparity there?"

Axton paused, the gears in his head turning. "There's nowhere near two million people on this planet."

"According to our head researcher, there's not even a million. So even if we scour this entire planet, we'll never have enough to revive every Eridian."

"Why is that a concern? I thought you all were strong enough to take us on. Why do you need two million troops?"

Bel looked at him like one would look at a stupid child, explaining slowly. "Because Mr. Axton, this chunk of rock is not our end game goal. This is merely the first step. Eridians existed on every planet, or most of them anyway, before you idiotic humans decided to take it for yourselves. We plan on going through the entire universe to sponge you from it."

"How? We have spaceships, but none that can perform intergalactic travel. Even the ones from Torgue only go to their mother ship just off the moon. Last I checked, you all still have to breathe."

"We can't survive space travel without a ship," confirmed Bel. "But like I said, this chunk of rock is just a stepping stone. We already have a plan on how we're going to step off this planet."

"What?"

"…we're not some Bond villains, Mr. Axton. Why would we possibly explain our plan to you?"

"I feel fine saying ours: We're going to stop you."

Bel chuckled. "You're funny, Mr. Axton. The problem is, we're not stupid either. If there was even the slightest chance of you interfering with us, we would've dealt with it. We did our plan twenty minutes ago."

Axton tried to keep calm, but his heart was going like a jackhammer in his chest. "And what was that?"

Axton's ECHO communicator rang, surprising the hell out of him. Bel simply smiled. "You should answer that. Might be important."

Axton answered it, his HUD indicating it was from Maya. "What is it?"

"Tune to Intergalactic News," snapped the Siren over the communicator. "This shit is going downhill fast."

He did so, before hearing an all too familiar voice.

"Attention members of the human race," spoke Charlemagne in his royal tone, clearly enjoying himself. "My name is King Charlemagne, newly appointed leader of the planet Pandora. Some of you may remember it as the place of the last two Vault incidents with Atlas and Hyperion, or simply as the place where Handsome Jack was killed, or maybe as the source of the largest Eridium mines in the entire universe. However you remember it, you know what planet I am referring to. Now, I am here to announce a new reason for you to remember it: I have uncovered a new Vault on this planet, far larger than the previous two. My personal researchers assure me this one is actually full of loot instead of the previous two, up to a ninety-nine percent accuracy. I invite all of you to find this Vault for me, for there is a very important artifact inside I wish to claim. You may have the rest of the treasure. Happy hunting."

"There's no way anyone is that stupid," snapped Axton.

Bel pulled out his own ECHO communicator, rapidly typing into it. "And the Commission of Intergalactic Immigration and Tourism proves you are wrong. There are already ten thousand tickets bought to the next ship to Pandora to arrive in four days, with fifty thousand for next week. And the list keeps getting longer."

Bel laughed, showing the communicator to indicate he wasn't joking. "God, you humans are morons. Someone says treasure and you haul ass to get so much as a scrap of it."

Axton's fists tightened. He should've anticipated a move like this. "There isn't a Vault, is there?"

"Of course not. If you humans thought logically for two seconds, you would ask: 'hey, why do we have to find the Vault if he apparently knows it exists?', or 'hey, if he knows where it is, why is he asking us to go get it?'. Thing is, a person may be smart, but people are stupid. They'll rush here because friends and strangers say it's a good idea to do so, but when they get here…"

Bel held up a finger gun to his head and shot it, titling his head to imitate getting shot in the head. "If things go according to plan, we'll have more than enough people to revive the troops here, and the ships they took as well."

Bel sipped his soda, grinning like a wolf. "So tell me Mr. Axton, how do you plan to stop that?"

Axton was shaking in rage, so pissed he hadn't thought of this move earlier. It was so obvious, yet it had skipped his mind completely. It was too heinous, too lowbrow, and yet perfectly in line with what Tiberius had described.

"You're worse than Handsome Jack," snapped Axton. "At least he thought, in his own deluded way, that he was making the world a better place. You all want to destroy the entire human race simply because you think yours is better. I'd rather take a homicidal maniac over a genocidal one."

Bel smiled. "So I guess I don't need to extend an invitation to you to join, huh? It's noble to fight for the losing side, but foolish. If you join, I'll make sure you get some kickass powers."

"Thanks, but no thanks," spat Axton with a mouthful of venom. "Free will, never go home without it."

Bel recoiled, as if he had been slapped. "Are you implying I'm brainwashed? That's what you're saying, isn't it?"

"Most rational human beings wouldn't advocate for the extermination of their own species."

Bel began twitching, his eyes glowing bright. "No…I'm…I chose this life…I want this…"

Axton, seeing a lifeline, grasped it firmly. "Fight it, Bel Girard. Charlemagne is going to kill everything you cared about. Resist it. Think about what you're losing."

Bel Girard glared at him, now calmed down. "I'm perfectly fine losing what's behind me. I loathe it."

Axton sighed, realizing it was unlikely any of Charlemagne's soldier could be saved. "Well then, if that's all."

He ripped his pistol off his belt and fired seven rounds into his chest.

Bel Girard immediately turned his entire body into a green color, not even moving from his seat. The bullets hit him, but stuck unmoving to his chest and face like they were glued on. He smirked.

"Mr. Axton, that was very rude," spoke the young man tauntingly. "If I wasn't so fast, that might've done some real damage to me."

He changed back to grey, the bullets sliding down into his lap and onto the floor. He withdrew a small rubber ball from his pocket, its color completely grey.

"I think I'll give you a present though," he said grinning.

The ball turned bright orange before he threw it right at Axton, sprinting away quickly.

Axton dodged the ball, watching it go past his body and land on the floor behind them.

Then it detonated like a grenade, throwing him bodily across the food court and into another table.

"Asshole," snapped the soldier getting up dazed. He looked around, but Bel had completely disappeared. He went onto the ECHO communicator. "Anyone see him?"

"Nope," answered Robert.

"Nothing," said Gaige.

"No," spoke Amber.

"Shit," grunted Axton. He sighed, rubbing his temples. "We are in a whole crock of shit now."


	8. Chapter 8: The Bandit

**Lilith and Co.**

"Fuck!" roared Lilith slamming her fists into the desk, flames already gathering on her shoulders and arms.

"That about sums it up," murmured Axton blandly. "We really are liking that phrase, aren't we?"

"I propose a new one," stated Gaige, still irritated. "How about: Most definitely."

"MOST DEFINITELY!" shouted Krieg in agreement.

She glared over at Tiberius, holding an accusatory finger. "You. You told us he'd try to kill those civilian zones. Instead, he raids the local Radioshack and shoots off a signal of his broadcast to the entire freaking galaxy. Now we got millions of idiots coming to this planet to be made into human batteries for his army."

"All my advice was speculation, not facts," argued Tiberius coldly. He was angry too, literally shaking with rage. "Clearly, I underestimated his intelligence and cunning. Regardless, pointing fingers doesn't accomplish anything. We need to plan for what he has done, as we are the reactive force here."

"And I'm getting real tired of that shit!" snapped Gaige. "We should just march into wherever that asshole is holed up and blow him to smithereens!"

"Aye, aye!" shouted Salvador.

"I SHALL CREATE MANY SMITHEREENS!" yelled Krieg.

Zer0 shook his head. "No, that is unwise/We are few, our foes many/We must be careful."

"Zer0 is right," spoke Maya. "If those guys with him are even half as strong as Charlemagne, we'd never stand a chance. Judging by our mission reports, he has quite a few now."

She spread out her hands on the table, displaying a list of names and faces. She slowly began ticking through each one.

"We counted a total of five so far, though they imply a total of at least eight so far. Of the five we know: Bel Girard, who can change the colors of objects and grant special properties to it. Qual appears to be immortal, as he took a sword to the face and he didn't die. Cold Bling's powers seem to revolve around manipulating events, though we are unable to determine what he is manipulating. The enemies Norman and Radiohead did not visually use their powers, so we are unable to determine them."

"Only three we know of," murmured Lilith rubbing her temples in frustration. "Okay…okay…we need to stop these ships coming to our planet before they get here."

"We should blow the ships up," proposed Robert sipping on a cup of tea.

Everyone recoiled at him appearing, somehow not noticing the approach of a rotting eight foot tall zombie to their table.

"How the hell did you sneak in here?!" asked Gaige amazed.

"Invisibility spell," answered Robert honestly.

"Bloody wizard," noted Maya annoyed.

Lilith glanced at him with eyebrows raised. "We can't shoot down spaceships when we don't have spaceships as strong as them."

"No problem," continued Robert calmly. "Ram your ships into them."

"Okay, I vote we stop listening to this moron," snapped Axton. "I'm pragmatic, but we need those ships. More importantly, who are we going to convince to go on suicide missions like this?"

Tiberius actually was pondering the idea, scratching his grey chin. "…why do we need those ships?"

Lilith answered that question. "They're our only space military vehicles."

"Is our enemy in space?"

Axton was incredulous. "And who is going to pilot those ships!? I'm not asking people to kill themselves for something this stupid!"

"Hate to be the moral center, but we're destroying ships full of innocent morons," argued Maya. "These people don't know what's going on, so we should kill them?"

"I see no issue," spoke Robert.

"I like him," grunted Salvador.

Lilith looked at Tiberius harshly. "Unfortunately, we can't do that. Not only is it morally wrong, but it would declare war on whoever was piloting those ships. And all that would do is bring more people to this planet."

Tiberius nodded. "Yes, that makes sense. We should still try to dissuade people to come here."

"Tell them I live here," grunted Robert slurping his tea. "I am wanted on several solar systems."

"They'd probably try to claim your bounty," argued Salvador. "Trust me, I know that from experience."

"Good. My powers are fueled with ashes anyway. More the merrier."

"Oh, quite the dilemma we are in, isnt' it?" asked Mason Maliwan eloquently, dramatically imitating the gesture of milking an invisible cow. "We must stop these people, but we cannot attack them or risk further people coming. What ever shall we do?"

"Whose on security for this meeting!?" screamed Lilith in frustration. "Has anyone else snuck in here?!"

"You know it sugar lips!" shouted a female voice from a small locker in the corner of the room.

"Tina! Get out of here! This is adult business!"

"I know all about adult business! I learn more every time I turn on Mordy's computer!"

Robert choked on a mouthful of tea, bursting into laughter. "Okay, I don't know who that person is, but they die last."

"That's Tiny Tina, our local explosives expert," explained Lilith. "Also apparently stealth operative in training, as evidenced by the fact she slipped in. Tina, get out of that locker!"

"No! It's cozy in here! There's a bag of cheese puffs in here and a whole bottle of vanilla cola!"

"Can I go into that locker?" asked Brick innocently.

"No!" shouted Lilith. "God, this job was easier when Roland had to be the buzzkill."

"You're telling me," noted Mordecai quietly.

"I'm in here too," spoke Svyatogor standing behind a tall fern. "I'm keeping an eye on Robert though. Don't mind me."

"Overseer," murmured Robert into his cup of tea. "Can't ever slip past him."

"Maybe he should run security," proposed Salvador absently.

"THERE'S SO MANY BODIES IN THIS ROOM!" screamed Krieg grasping at his temples and comprehending that many people without also thinking on murdering them.

"Can I come out too?" inquired Doctor Richter popping out of a closet.

"Please do," pleaded Maya.

"Where's the bathroom?" asked Elijah Kato sticking himself through the door.

Lilith slammed both of her fists into the table, completely engulfed in flames. "Anyone who is not a first or second generation Vault Hunter or Tiberius needs to get out right now before I turn you into stains on the floor!"

All the third generation Vault Hunters and Tiny Tina fled the room immediately, Tina making sure to grab the vanilla cola and cheese puffs on her way out. Once they were gone, Lilith calmed down a bit.

"Okay, I'm good, I'm good," she said fanning her flames down.

"On to our strategy," continued Tiberius. "The best move we can do right now is find and neutralize any large bandit camps so King cannot use their souls. He or one of his assistants needs to be present to use them, so if we kill them before they get there, their souls are moot."

Lilith nodded. "We'll start the operations immediately. We have four days before the first ship gets here, then we're going to have real problems."

"Wonder what Charlemagne is doing right now," murmured Axton. "He's already got this in the bag as far as I can see."

"Probably enjoying a nice margarita," grunted Salvador.

* * *

 **King Charlemagne**

The bandit leader smirked through his clasped hands, as if trying to keep his mouth hidden. "Well Mr. Charlemagne, your offer is most alluring, especially with your subsequent explanation."

"I had hoped so," spoke Charlemagne with a friendly air, sipping a glass of white wine casually. He had contacted this man, Bonesaw as it were, to extend an offer of friendship and communion. More specifically, he needed troops for his army. His own troops were well and good, but he could count them on his fingers at the moment. Bodies were needed.

Bonesaw adjusted his silk robe. Despite his title as bandit leader and overall name, he was very fashionable and dressed with all sense of style. He was a very rich man, as judged by his jewelry, and his two bodyguards had the finest weaponry. He didn't look like he was armed, though he likely was dangerous if he had remained a leader of a violent gang.

"Well Mr. Charlemagne, I like your offer," stated the bandit confidently. "I inherit your direct source of power as one of your 'disciples', and you give all of my men a fraction of it. Then, we rule as one force."

Charlemagne nodded, doing his best not to laugh. He was lying about that ruling together portion. This ignorant backwater hick wasn't fit to wipe his ass with that silk robe. There were only a handful of people on this planet he would rule together with, and all of them wanted to kill him. This man was merely a stepping stone. "Of course."

"Well…I have one condition."

Charlemagne raised an eyebrow curiously. "Name it."

"I want my bodyguards to be one of your 'disciples' too. They've served me well through the years, and they deserve it."

That surprised him. Obviously this man valued loyalty and strength as much as he did. Perhaps he had misjudged him based on his first impressions. "Certainly. However, they must accept the gift. I cannot give that which is not wanted. If they resist it, I might kill them."

"Whatever Mr. Bonesaw wants, he gets," snapped one of the bodyguards, a woman wearing an iron mask and gauntlets.

"If you ask it of me, it shall be done," spoke the other, a man wearing a black leather vest and pants with glowing metal bits on his back and legs, resembling a motorcyclist from the future.

Bonesaw smirked, extending his hand out. "There you go. Give the three of us your personal power, and I shall grant you five thousand loyal soldiers."

Charlemagne grinned, shaking the hand firmly, injecting his power straight into the man and taking over his mind. "It's a deal."

* * *

 **Cruelty, Fear, Envy, and Nihilism**

"Is he still talking to that ass-hat?" asked Qual astonished, rapidly punching the surface of his smart phone to occupy the time.

"It's a delicate diplomatic situation," argued Sachiel, his grin wide. He was carrying a barrel with him, full of what looked like random objects. There was a long stick of magic markers stuck end to end, a fishing rod, a ruler, a longboard, and several implements that looked more akin to garbage than anything else. "We'd just get in the way of that."

"Odd how he didn't send you in then Jerry. You'd make some killer drinks."

Jerry Bean smiled softly, handling his shaker masterfully. "His Majesty saw fit to leave me out of it. His guest might interpret this gesture as attempted poisoning. After all, he isn't exactly well known amongst the populous, though his message probably sent ripples through the universe."

Norman raised a thumb at that, indicating his approval.

"Well whatever the case is, I'm getting bored," grunted Qual.

"Is that really all?" asked Sachiel critically.

"The hell you on about?"

"Is there more? Are you perhaps…angry?"

"About what?"

Sachiel's smile widened, threatening to split his face. "He's going to be making more servants. These were not hand-chosen by him though, unlike us. In some people's eyes, this new group might be of an inferior breed."

"Stop reflecting yourself onto me," snapped Qual harshly. "I wasn't the one branded Envy."

Sachiel laughed, imitating a hyena. "Perhaps. You were named Cruelty. Last I saw, you haven't done that much cruelty since I've been here. Perhaps a mislabeling?"

"Asshole, if you're thinking on something, spit it out. Stop dodging the issue."

"Fine. I think your title is a load of bollocks."

Qual stood, sliding his phone into his pocket and sticking his chest out. "Take a swing, jackass. You only get one."

Sachiel drew the fishing rod from his barrel, the entire metal tool filling with lightning as he did so. He smirked, waving his literal lightning rod tauntingly in front of him. "Where do you want it?"

A loud clap stopped them, both of them turning to face the source.

Norman stood between them with his hands clasped together, head bowed. Once he was sure he had gotten their attention, he walked off, as if warning them he was departing.

"Creepy mother," murmured Qual relaxing his body.

Sachiel nodded. "Yeah. Why doesn't he ever talk?"

"He does talk. I hear him in that little room he's in. He whispers to that…thing he has in there."

"Oh…that's even worse than if he didn't talk."

"I know. His title was picked out perfectly."

* * *

 **Norman**

Norman moved with elegant grace as he moved, his hands held in front of him as if in prayer. The stone halls of the building were old, so old they held immense weight just from their aura, and glowed with faint Eridium. More importantly, they held the power of Charlemagne, which grew every day as he resided here.

Norman disliked needless squabbles. They did not suit a man like him. Norman had been a priest in his past life, as a human. He had traveled to Pandora after his last congregation had risen against him on false charges of pedophilia, a decision he had quickly come to regret. He had learned to fight by necessity, or else he would've ended up as a head on a pike a long time ago.

Then a mysterious man walked through the door of his chapel, not a reformed bandit or wanderer. The man knew who he was, and wished to speak with him. He talked with that stranger for hours, until he had been offered a deal. Power for loyalty. It was a simple trade.

Norman looked at his hands, noting how pale they had become. He originally had tanned skin from the harsh Pandora sun, but the power Charlemagne had given sapped all life from his body. His skin bore no heat, he did not draw breathe, and he did not require sustenance. He was effectively a walking corpse, worse than Qual as Qual still looked human. Still, the power had been more than worth it.

He reached his quarters, a small room with no windows. He had requested this room for the dimness of it, as the sun hurt his sensitive skin now, and for other reasons. The room was simple, the only furniture consisting of a bed and chest with his belongings. He could see only from a small candle in the room, placed opposite the bed to not risk lighting it on fire.

In the center of the room was a small boy, huddled in a black blanket. The boy looked very similar to him save in size, his features identical in face and build.

The boy looked up but said nothing, his eyes blank and wide. He was completely blind, but could hear with perfect accuracy. He opened his mouth, but no words came out, instead a stream of gibberish.

Norman reached up and removed his mouth, smiling softly. His lips were chapped and pale, his tongue a pale blue color. Finally, he spoke.

"Hello Nathan," he whispered in his low coarse voice.

The boy reacted, recoiling slightly. He had done that ever since Norman had gotten his power, not recognizing his voice like he used to. He feared anyone that was not Norman, a testament to a lifetime of abuse and maltreatment.

"It's me, Norman," assured Norman gently, kneeling down before the boy. He extended a hand palm facing upwards, offering it to the boy.

Nathan grasped the hand, feeling the cold skin but more importantly the lines and curves. Even after everything, his body's shape had not changed, and that was half of what the boy recognized. Upon realizing who he was, the boy let out another groan.

Norman smiled, grasping the boy by the arm and softly pulling him into his chest. He embraced the boy, Nathan cooing and rubbing his head into his sternum. Even now, the boy sought heat in his flesh, even if there was none to have.

"I'm sorry I've been gone so long," spoke Norman brushing the boy's long hair in his hands, an action he did to calm the boy down. "I was busy, you see. His Majesty needs me. He's the one who made me strong, you see? He gave us this room, and all this nice food to eat."

The boy let out another groan, Norman smiling. He hadn't understood the groan, but he liked to pretend he did. "No, His Majesty only asks for my loyalty and work. You don't need to do anything, Nathan. You're doing just fine. I couldn't ask for better. I'm so proud of you."

He noted the boy had gone to sleep in his chest, Norman chuckling lowly. Nathan always did that shortly after he embraced him. The boy could only go to sleep with him, and he had been gone for a sizable amount of time. He was likely tired.

He picked the boy up as slowly and softly as he could, making sure not to wake him. He carried him easily over to the bed, laying him down with deliberate care. He adjusted the blanket over him, placing it on his shoulders to keep him warm.

Norman walked to the other side and slid under the covers as well, wrapping his arms around the boy much like before. He kissed the boy on the forehead, closing his eyes as well.

"Rest peacefully, Nathan," he whispered. "My brother…my treasure…my light…"


	9. Chapter 9: The Biker and Rider

**Hatred and Melancholy**

"Did you see that new group of Vault Hunters?" asked Raider 327, his rifle resting on his shoulder casually.

"Yeah, real pieces of work," murmured Raider 296, holding a sniper rifle. "A new Siren, a zombie, a masked serial killer, a drunkard, a robot, an Eridian, and a carrier of a deadly plague."

"That Amber woman is hot though," argued Raider 263 with his rocket launcher.

"Don't let her catch you saying that," spoke Raider 327. "She damn near ripped the balls off the last guy that tried to hit on her."

"What about that Siren? She's pretty."

"Pretty psycho," murmured Raider 296. "Shame all the girls this time are crazy, violent, or infested with plague."

"Hey man, I'd take a dip in some rubbing alcohol for that Doctor chick," spoke Raider 263 with a wide grin.

"You can't even see under her armor," argued Raider 296 incredulously. "You need to let out some rocks, mate. There's a whorehouse here, you know."

"Yeah, and there's one next to Moxxi's bar too," jested Raider 327, none-too-subtly implying Moxxi herself was a courtesan.

Raider 263 was about to reply, before he saw something in the distance. "Hey, anyone else see that shit?"

Raider 296 followed where he was pointing, looking out into the bright distance of Pandora's desert. They had begun settling Sanctuary in small intervals on the planet's surface to save fuel, usually not for periods longer than a week, but that meant security measures had to be taken such as their job of sitting on the wall.

"I don't see anything," grunted Raider 296.

"Bro, there's two people walking out there. Can't you see them?" snapped Raider 327.

Raider 296 rolled his eyes and aimed through his scope. "Okay…I see something, but…there's only one guy."

A loud snapping was heard past his left ear, Raider 296 glancing over before his eyes widened in shock.

A man was standing there perfectly still, holding the twitching body of Raider 327 in his hands. Raider 327 had his head twisted completely around with the neck broken, his body moving erratically and unnaturally as it died.

"Hra…!" began Raider 263 raising his rocket launcher before a second before the man dashed over to him, punching him so hard and fast he burrowed through his chest. Raider 263 dropped the rocket launcher, clutching at the arm in his chest in vain.

Raider 296 reached for his radio at his waist, before feeling a sharp and overwhelming pain in his throat. He could see blood pour down his shirt over the small plastic radio, his vision darkening quickly.

The last view Raider 296 had was of his feet, as his head fell off his shoulders and slammed into the ground. His body followed it, the man standing over him nimbly dodging the body from landing on him.

Moon Rider gave a disdainful look underneath her mask, her metal gauntlets not speckled with a single drop of blood. "Perfection. As usual."

"Yeah, well and good!" shouted her partner from far below her, at the base of the gate. "Open the fucking door!"

"Open it yourself," snapped the woman. "Besides, the controls aren't up here."

"Bitch," grunted Harley, adjusting his vest with two oversized fists. "Fine. I'll open it."

He took a few steps back, cracking his knuckles. He then swung a single fist at the gate, screaming with all his lungs.

The gate flew open at his force, shattering the hinges and lock with ease. The doors slammed into the ground, throwing up a layer of asphalt dust and shards of metal into the air.

"God I love these powers," grunted Harley with a massive grin.

Moon Rider quickly appeared beside him, walking with her hands in her pocket. "You sure the Vault Hunters are gone?"

"Absolutely," stated Harley. "Jerry said they'd be gone for at least a few days. They're looking for us, hilariously enough."

"Good," grunted Moon Rider. "What sort of idiots leave their home town with absolutely no defenses? These guys are a joke, and the rest are civilians."

"Don't be overconfident," argued Harley cautiously. "There might be someone dangerous here."

"And? We're dangerous too. Bring them on. I'm already bored."

* * *

Tiny Tina shoved her way through the adult legs in her way, her breathing ragged and frantic. "Moxxi! Moxxi!"

"Calm yourself kid," snapped one of the bar patrons, having been busy enjoying the ample view he had of Moxxi's…uh…ample bosom. "You got plenty a view from there."

"Why don't you just GET THE HELL OUT OF MY WAY FATTY! THIS IS IMPORTANT!"

"Fatty?" snapped the man turning around and hefting his large girthing stomach. "You want to go, bitch? I don't mind beating kids. I…AIIGHH!"

Mad Moxxi twisted the man's ear sharply, her pleasant face not betraying the anger in her eyes. "Okay, that's a big no-no buddy. Tina is a good friend of mine, and I really don't like people messing with her."

"That's a girl?" asked the man astonished.

"YES I AM!" screamed Tiny Tina. "I just don't have massive tatas or a shapely caboose that could be mounted to a subway tram!"

"That's an interesting metaphor," grunted the man, before Moxxi twisted his ear again.

"Okay buddy, time to go," snapped Moxxi sharply.

"Okay! Okay! I'm going!"

Moxxi turned back to Tina, quickly seeing the worried look on her face. Tina usually was either bubbly or crazy, usually both, so this look of terror was very concerning. "What is it?"

"There's…there's…there's…"

"Stop thinking of clever cheeky metaphors and just say what it is!"

"There's two of those crazy people here!"

Moxxi sighed good-naturedly. "Tina, we call those customers, and we don't like to upset them."

As if on cue, Moon Rider and Harley kicked the door of the bar open, brandishing two assault rifles. The entire bar froze in surprise, not sure how to react to two complete strangers holding guns, especially since there had been no alarm.

"Hi," spoke Harley before they both opened fire.

Screams and bullets filled the room, Moxxi quickly grabbing Tina and hefting her over the bar to shield her from bullets. The bar was completely bulletproof, a necessary modification for bartenders on Pandora, and had several guns shoved under it.

"Who are these guys?!" demanded Moxxi angrily.

"They work for that King fellow!" snapped Tina. "Lily and all them are hunting them!"

"Well great, now they're hunting us!"

Moxxi grabbed the shotgun under her bar, pumping the action and sliding a shell into place. "Can you handle a pistol?"

"Yeah," said Tina grabbing the closest one. "We got to get backup. These guys cleared a whole squad of guards."

"What? How?"

"The lady with the nice bajongas is like Mordecai's romantic life, and the biker guy is the freaking Terminator!"

"So one's fast, the other's strong and durable, perfect," murmured Moxxi rolling her eyes. She paused. "Wait, how did you know about Mordecai's…private affairs?"

Tina threw up her hands. "I'm weird, not five! I do notice the cheeky things you all say! I've read The Onion!"

"Oh. Ugh, I've said so much in front of you, I am sorry."

"No biggie. I've actually used some of it on chat rooms. I'm a digital pimp, son!"

Moxxi didn't even want to open that mental car of worms, and looked out into the room. The two guys were marching through it quickly, methodically shooting each person trying to hide or fight back. As Tina said, the woman was able to dodge bullets easily while the man simply tanked the shots without even staggering. There was no way the two of them could fight off people this strong.

"We need some backup," agreed Moxxi. "Got any ideas?"

"Marcus?" proposed Tina.

"No, my old husband is a good man, but cowardly. He probably locked himself in his safe already."

"Tannis?"

"She's a scientist! Bandits left her alone because she spoke words that made their brains hurt!"

"Janey? Zed? Nina?"

Moxxi raised an eyebrow. "Actually, that's not bad. That's where we'll go."

She placed the shotgun to her shoulder. "Stay close."

"Yes ma'am," spoke Tina mesmerized by the backside she was standing behind, before realizing staring at it like the Holy Grail would get a bullet lodged in her face. Of course, the decision to look away was a decision only barely passed through her mental congress.

Moxxi stepped out from the bar, whistling to catch the attention of the two people. "Hey assholes!"

Harley turned, leveling his firearm.

Then she flashed him.

Harley's nose nearly exploded off his face, staggering away and landing on his partner. Moon Rider let out a cry of astonishment before slamming into the floor, her comatose partner laying outstretched on her happily.

"Wow…those are killer…" whispered Harley.

"You moron! Focus! They're getting away!"

Tina and Moxxi sprinted through the streets quickly, frequently ducking and jumping through alleys to make it harder to follow them.

"Nice move," admitted Tina with blood still trickling from her nose. "Tumblr would hate you."

"Hey, if you got a weapon, you damn well better use it," argued Moxxi.

They reached Zed's clinic, Moxxi knocking harshly on the steel door. "Open up Zed! It's me and Tina!"

"How do I know that?" asked a voice from the other side. "Maybe those Charlemagne fellows took you hostage and want me to open the door."

"Zed you idiot, one of them has super strength, he doesn't need you to open the door!"

"Hmph. That's just rude. Now I definitely won't let you in."

Moxxi sighed, slamming her head into the door. "I'm going to die because of this idiot."

"Girl, you got weapons!" snapped Tina. She leaned in close, shadows covering her face. "Do what you must do."

Moxxi sighed again, a long groaning one that people with dirty minds would've misinterpreted. "…Zed?"

"Hmm?"

"…I'll give you a kiss if you let us in."

"Bloody hell woman, I kiss my mother. I don't need any others."

"Gonna have to give more," spoke Tina tapping her foot impatiently.

"I'm not some cheap whore!" snapped Moxxi angrily.

"No, you're an expensive one. I've seen the jar. Insert your tip? About as subtle as sitting on a traffic cone."

Moxxi hit her head again, hoping the blow was strong enough to kill her. Unfortunately, it was not. "Zed?"

"Hmm?"

"What do you want?"

"Whaaaaaaat?"

"What. Do. You. Want?"

"…a Chrysler. Twenty pounds of cocaine. Touching your breasts."

"I can give you the third one," snapped Moxxi with gritted teeth, not liking the idea at all.

"Okay. Ten seconds."

"Two seconds."

"Eight seconds and a squeeze."

"Three seconds."

"Five seconds and two squeezes."

"Four seconds and one squeeze."

Zed paused at that last one. "Upgrade to two squeezes and we got a deal."

"Fine!" shouted Moxxi annoyed. "Just let us in before they kill us!"

The door opened, Moxxi and Tina quickly charging in. The door slammed shut as soon as they cleared it, Nurse Nina already sliding the objects that had kept the door shut back in place.

"Whose here?" asked Moxxi holding her shotgun.

"Me, Nina, Jenny," stated Dr. Zed hefting his axe. "Not much else. We go a few guns, but not a lot. Also…"

"We can go through that later," snapped Moxxi harshly. "We're in a combat scenario now."

"She is right," stated Nina looking out the window. "Those two are coming this way."

"Crap," murmured Zed, disappointed his price would be delayed. "Anyone got any ideas?"

Jenny sat up, an SMG in her lap. "Uh…I had one actually."

"Spill," ordered Moxxi.

"Okay, but this is going to sound a little crazy…"


	10. Chapter 10: Q&A

**[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "Whoa, is this a chapter just for us?"**

 **[Richard McGuinness]: "Uh-oh. Last time this happened, we canceled a story. I don't think we can survive another retcon man."**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "Well Sam isn't here, so I think we're good on that front. We do have a message though."**

 **[Richard McGuinness]: "Okay, drop it down."**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "He says: 'We need to bait people into dropping reviews.'"**

 **[Richard McGuinness]: "How does he plan to do that?"**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "Well, we're bringing back something from an older story. Q and A! That's right audience members we are now acknowledging, we will deliberately break the fourth wall into teeny tiny pieces to let you ask questions directly to our cast!"**

 **[Richard McGuinness]: "Cool…well…what now? This is just a chapter with us."**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "Ah ha! Thankfully, we got some questions already, submitted by Sam's acquaintances!"**

 **[Richard McGuinness]: "Awesome. Let's get started. Who's the first guy we're talking to?"**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "Uh…biggest group of people are voting for…Charlemagne. Actually…are the questions are for him."**

 **[Richard McGuinness]: "The bad guy? Screw it. Let's dial him up.**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "Already on it. Hello? Hello? Is this King Charlemagne?"**

 **[King Charlemagne]: "Yes. It is me."**

 **[Richard McGuinness]: "Whoa, your voice is…weird. It's like Jeremy Irons and Anthony Hopkins, with both of them doing their best Jack Nicholson impressions."**

 **[King Charlemagne]: "I'll take that as a compliment, human. Now, why have you called me? I am not terribly busy, but do have things to do."**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "Well…uh….this is weird…"**

 **[Richard McGuinness]: "We got questions to ask you. Do you mind answering them?"**

 **[King Charlemagne]: "AS long as they don't ask for my plans or details of them."**

 **[Richard McGuinness]: "Well that takes out a couple, but for the most part, no."**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "Okay, let's start then. First question is from Andrew Wright. By the way, these are fake names with the same initials, so Sam's friends know who is who in case they forgot whatever question they asked. Also, Sam couldn't resist doing it. So first question is…uh…do you poop?"**

 **[King Charlemagne]: "…I am giving you ten seconds to ask a legitimate question or I am hanging up the phone."**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "Oh bloody hell…uh…this is from Jackie Firrus: do you plan on killing all human beings in the universe?"**

 **[King Charlemagne]: "Yes."**

 **[Richard McGuinness]: "Oh…well that's not good news for us."**

 **[King Charlemagne]: "Sorry gentlemen. It is nothing personal."**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "Actually, this does correlate with one question that nearly everyone asked. And I mean, nearly everyone. Why do you want to kill humans? You mentioned something about a job, but little else."**

 **[King Charlemagne]: "Hmm…I was elected for this position. I was deemed the best for this job, to bring our race back to its former glory. We were killing ourselves far faster than we could save ourselves, and the best option was to wait it out."**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "Killing yourselves? What happened?"**

 **[King Charlemagne]: "…we Eridians were a warring people. We had expanded so large we had begun to divide ourselves into groups for no reason other than we were able to. War was common, and war brings famine and plaque. Soon we begun to kill each other faster than we could repopulate, but the wars never stopped. Peace was impossible, some factions blatantly ignoring the effects war was having on us."**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "So you all decided to sleep?"**

 **[King Charlemagne]: "Not all of us. The warring groups stayed behind. You see how well that turned out. Now all that's left is those of us smart enough to realize civil war is counterproductive. When I awaken them, we will roll through this universe like a tidal wave of blood and plasma."**

 **[Richard McGuinness]: "But why you? Why were you chosen for this job?"**

 **[King Charlemagne]: "I was one of the few with this power you see. The ability to use souls for power. My race knew all of us wouldn't be able to wake up, so someone had to lead us during that period. Once my job is done, I shall return to my former rank and let my superiors take over. I will have earned my rest."**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "You don't plan on ruling? That seems at odds for someone called King."**

 **[King Charlemagne]: "Theatricality, I assure you. You humans love charismatic power, and I'm afraid quite a bit of your traits rubbed off on me. Next question please."**

 **[Richard McGuinness]: "Very well. Uh...this is from George Harrison: Why did you pick the most absolute fucking weirdos for your soldiers? Shiro is a mad doctor, Bel Girard is every stereotypical creepy pretty boy, Cold Bling could only be more offensive if he shouted the N-word every other sentence, Radiohead is Skrillex without the music degree, and the less aid about Norman, the better. What gives?"**

 **[King Charlemagne]: "Tell me, do the Vault Hunters seem much more normal than my soldiers?"**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "…POP!"**

 **[Richard McGuinness]: "The fuck was that?"**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "The argument. Going pop."**

 **[Richard McGuinness]: "Right…well, now from David Wallace: Hey Charlemagne, have you ever gotten laid?"**

 **[King Charlemagne]: "More times than the entire population of your planet. Next."**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "Eric Hector: Why are you grey?"**

 **[King Charlemagne]: "Because if I was black they wouldn't give me a warning shot. Next."**

 **[Richard McGuinness]: "Katelyn Rivers: What's the most amazing thing you've ever seen?"**

 **[King Charlemagne]: "The complete and utter insipidness of this question. Next."**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "Yuri Oliver: Why don't you do the jobs of your underlings yourself? Seems sort of lazy."**

 **[King Charlemagne]: "I made my underlings for the sole purpose of extending my influence and power as far as it can reach. I am only one being. I can only do so much, even with my great power. Last I checked, two of my soldiers infiltrated Sanctuary on their own, and those weren't even my handpicked ones. I think I can rely on my men."**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "That's fair enough I suppose. Next question from John Quincy: What's your favorite food?"**

 **[King Charlemagne]: "You get to ask one question. A question about anything involving the guy who plans to slaughter your entire race, and you choose to talk about food. Of course, considering the state of this planet, it's not surprising you all are only concerned with survival since everything on this planet is lethal, including the air. As for an answer, I like tacos. Especially breakfast tacos."**

 **[Richard McGuinness]: "Hmm, any guy who likes breakfast foods is okay by me."**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "He wants to kill us all!"**

 **[Richard McGuinness]: "But we have so much in common! Question from me: Do you like sports, and if so, what kind?"**

 **[King Charlemagne]: "For the longest time, I would've said no. But I found one thing that still intrigues me to this day. Sumo wrestling."**

 **[Richard McGuinness]: "YES! Sign me up to work with this guy!"**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "Okay, let's keep going before Rich bursts an artery. Rachel Frank: Do you smoke?"**

 **[King Charlemagne]: "Only when set on fire. Next."**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "Victor Sans: What do you think about Anthony Burch?"**

 **[King Charlemagne]: "While I have respect for any writer willing to stick to what he finds passion in, I must say his contribution will be missed. And since there are snowballs currently burning in the Great Plains that have a greater chance than Sam does of ever actually working for Gearbox, I say it's likely they're going to find some other nuanced writer this time around."**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "Oh…uh…who is Anthony Burch?"**

 **[King Charlemagne]: "None of your concern, human."**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "Whatever then. This question is from Brandon Sanders."**

 **[King Charlemagne]: "This will be the last question. I have things to get back to."**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "Sure, no problem. Here's the question: Why did you name all your soldiers after negative things? Why not positive things?"**

 **[King Charlemagne]: "That's a fair question. I find it good for my soldiers to understand their flaws by having them pointed out. If I labeled them Bravery or Justice, they'd simply indulge in that aspect and neglect everything else. By pointing out their flaws, they work on them and make them more well-rounded. Of course, whether they change or not isn't something I can control."**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "Well, I guess that's all the questions we got for you. Thanks Charlemagne."**

 **[King Charlemagne]: "No problem gentlemen. I hope I shall extinguish your kind from this universe."**

 **[Richard McGuinness]: "Same to you. Goodbye."**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "Damn! Aren't you worried he'll kill you?"**

 **[Richard McGuinness]: "He already wants to kill me. Might as well give him a good reason."**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "Hmm…call him back, I got shit to say too."**

 **[Richard McGuinness]: "Not a chance. I'm pretty sure he can shoot radiation through cell waves."**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "Seriously?"**

 **[Richard McGuinness]: "Would that surprise you?"**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "No. Well, I guess that's all. Tatty bye audience, and send in some questions!"**

 **[Richard McGuinness]: "Later assholes!"**


	11. Chapter 11: Only Normal

**Hatred and Melancholy**

Harley slammed his fist into the steel door, creating another large crater in the surface. He grunted, twirling his tired arm and shoulder. "Crap on a cracker, this door really is reinforced. They must've parked all their fat asses on the other end."

"I'm sure there's another entrance," begged Moon Rider rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, and what if they're trapped? This door is barricaded. There's no point in trapping a barricaded door, so this is the only obstacle."

"What if all the entrances are trapped and this one is also barricaded?"

"…shut up!"

Harley swung his fist again, a single bolt from the door's hinges flying off. He smirked. "Almost through."

"Oh good, good. Can't hardly wait."

Harley roared, swinging again. This time the door flew open, the debris keeping it closed flying deeper into the room.

"Huh?" grunted the biker astonished. "Why is it so dark?"

Moon Rider leveled her firearm into the room, firing off shots into the dark room. The flashes from her gunfire illuminated the room, showing that it was completely empty of people.

"Maybe a tunnel?" she proposed holding the smoking gun. "Be a bit unorthodox, considering this is a flying city, but it's not unheard of."

"There could be a whole network of those," murmured Harley in annoyance. "We got to flush all of them out."

Harley took a step into the room, pausing in surprise. "Wait…what's that noise? An engine?"

Suddenly a vehicle careened right behind them, dragging a massive concrete block behind it. The vehicle parked, the block sliding right in front of the hole they had just entered.

"Cocksuckers!" snapped Harley punching the cinderblock. It cracked, but did not shatter. He winced, shaking his hand in pain. "Goddamn reinforced with rebar. That's a bitch."

"They trapped us in the room?" asked Moon Rider astonished. "What is this, Opposite Day?"

"Seems like a poor idea, doesn't it?" inquired a voice from the shadows. "A little overconfident, hmm?"

A spotlight illuminated a figure in the darkness, seated in a large leather chair. The figure was small, the chair nearly engulfing her short stature, and was stroking a white cat.

"Of course, we humans tend to be overconfident," spoke Tiny Tina smirking, doing her best impression of a Bond villain. "We aren't exactly…not overconfident, damn it Moxxi, what's the opposite of overconfident?"

"Humble," proposed the woman appearing out of the shadows near Tina, leaning on the chair with her shotgun in one hand. "Nice little speech until that part though."

Moon Rider raised her firearm to her shoulder. "Enough hiding. Now die."

She pulled the trigger.

The gun didn't fire.

She looked at her gun astonished, pulling the trigger a few more times. It still didn't fire.

"What's wrong?" asked Harley concerned. "Your gun jammed?"

"It's a Jakobs, they don't jam," snapped Moon Rider. She checked the barrel through the firing chamber, confirming a bullet wasn't lodged along it. "Why won't my gun fire?"

"Sorry about that," spoke a new male voice. "That would be me."

A computer monitor flashed on, revealing a stout male face filling the entirety.

"Marcus Kincaid's patented Anti-Fire Gun Modification," explained Marcus Kincaid pleased with himself, arms crossed over his large chest. "If you bought on a gun on this planet, I can shut it off whenever I want. Stops the firing pin from firing, you see. That gun's worthless metal for now."

Harley threw his gun to the side as well, chuckling. "Wow, you guys are smart. I can't wait to paint this room with your insides."

"That will be seen," spoke Dr. Zed. "Thankfully, I've been preparing for you people. And I have developed the best strategy against you."

He paused for dramatic tension, then fled the room, followed by all the other humans.

Moon Rider and Harley stood stock still for a moment, before reacting.

"Get back here!" shouted Moon Rider dashing to where they had ran.

"Hold up!" yelled Harley. "Not all of us are fast!"

They ran into a garage-looking sort of structure, cars and trucks in various states of repair scattered across it. The lights were out, because of course they were, and only a few electrical sparks from loose wires provided even a bit of illumination.

"Come on out!" roared Harley. "I'm getting real tired of this shit!"

"Calm down," ordered Moon Rider. "I'll scan the corners. You stay in the center."

She dashed around the edges of the room quickly, dodging obstacles with ease as she analyzed the darkest corners.

Harley paused, hearing another whine of an engine. "Oh great. You in one of these cars? Come on out! No, hit me with it! I can tank a car!"

He heard a spark from above his head, glancing up in shock. He gazed through the darkness, before swearing.

"Oh for fuck's sake…"

A solid pillar of fire blasted from the top of the room and slammed into him, knocking Harley to his knees. He screamed in pain as the flames boiled his skin and clothes clean off, reducing them to ashes.

"Harley!" shouted Moon Rider concerned. She tried to run on, but the flames were far too hot for even her speed to breach through.

Something flashed near her face, Moon Rider dodging away before it hit her. She turned, noting Moxxi shooting at her with her shotgun.

Then two strong arms wrapped around her, locking Moon Rider in place. She grunted and tried to break free, but the arms were like steel rods over her.

"Stop," snapped Nurse Nina harshly. "Before I break some ribs."

Dr. Zed chuckled, stepping out from a car. "Thank you Nurse. Now, allow me to do my work."

Moon Rider glanced at him with anger in her eyes. "Human, what could you do? None of you have powers or technology. This entire effort is pointless."

"Perhaps," admitted Zed strapping on his long leather gloves. He glanced at her, closing his eyes and his cheeks stretching out in a smile. He touched her gently on the cheek. "Of course, we doctors have to try no matter how pointless. That's how we save lives. Or take them."

Then, with no change in tone, reared back and kicked her hard in the knee.

Moon Rider screamed as her leg bent backwards and shattered, collapsing into the arms holding her. She glanced up at him, eyes full of tears and rage. "Charlemagne will skin you alive! He'll hoist your screaming body on the city gates for all to gaze upon as the birds eat your eyes!"

"Creative," admitted Zed pleasantly. "Now for the other leg."

They stopped as an incredibly loud noise moved past the whine of the rocket engine, everyone glancing up at the fire pillar curiously.

Then, amazingly, Harley ran from it screaming, his entire body aflame.

"Just what are these guys made of?!" asked Moxxi amazed.

Harley smashed his fist into a car, sending it flying across the room at Nina and Zed. They quickly moved backwards, the car flipping right over Moon Rider's prone body. The woman was trying desperately to stand, but to no avail.

Harley stood over her with flames still wreathing his body, panting loudly. "You…stupid…bitch…"

"We need to leave!" ordered Moon Rider. "We need to regroup and rethink this plan!"

Harley smirked, his lack of lips exposing all of his teeth. "Bitch…when was that…the plan? I…remember…the plan…"

Moon Rider's eyes grew wide, legitimate fear entering them. "No, please! I…I can still fight! I…!"

Harley grabbed her by the side of the head, rearing back his other hand. Shouting at the top of his lungs, he plunged his hand through her skull, splattering him with brain and shards of bone. He kept doing this, until he was hitting what looked more like a chunk of hamburger than a human skull.

Harley grinned, his flesh growing back as the flames extinguished themselves. He straightened his back, all of his vertebrae cracking satisfactorily.

Then he glanced at the other Vault Hunters, smirking.

"Well, you all are screwed," said Harley cheekily.

Then he dashed to them, hitting Nina square in the chest.

Nina flew through a wall and landed in a heap, groaning and grasping at her broken ribs.

"He's fast…!" started Moxxi an instant before he smacked her into a truck, shattering the canopy with ease.

Harley glanced over at Zed, grinning sadistically. "Hey, you hurt my friend. I remember that."

"Your friend?" asked Zed astonished and a little offended. "You just killed her! Seems a bit hypocritical to say that to me."

"She was my comrade," explained Harley holding up his right hand, still soaked in gore. "That's what comrades do. They help each other. I took her power for myself. We soldiers of Charlemagne can do that, but only as a last ditch effort. I shall not let her sacrifice be in vain. What do you say to that?"

Zed paused, thinking it over. "Hmm…well, you should be feeling a bit queasy right now."

Harley laughed. "Why? I find nothing nauseating about killing her."

"No, that's not it at all. Perhaps my dose was short...?"

"What dose you…?!"

Harley paused, before collapsing to his knees. He couldn't feel his feet at all, as if they had been cut off, and his legs had gone numb. He couldn't even wiggle the toes.

"What…the…hell…?" asked Harley astonished. "What did you do to me?!"

"Nothing," spoke Zed raising his hands. "Well, not technically. I did something to your friend. And you absorbed her. Regretting that decision yet?"

"What…? When…?"

"When I touched her cheek, I injected her with a compound of mine. Neurotoxin derived from hemlock. Never liked the Greeks much, but they had the right idea for this one. 100 milligrams is all it takes from regular old hemlock."

Zed held up a syringe. "Of course, you can distill it down quite a bit more than that if you know what you're doing. I injected you with enough to drop twenty people. Frankly it's amazing she didn't feel the effects sooner either."

Harley noticed the paralysis was rising rapidly up his body, now going to his waist. He crawled over to Zed, still desperate to kill him. He was panting, noticing alarmingly that it was getting harder to breathe.

"You…damn…human…" grunted Harley.

"You curse us with your last words?" asked Moxxi stepping over. "Admirable, but really annoying. You attacked us. We didn't do anything. Name one reason we have to die."

Harley looked at her, and that one look took the breath from her lungs and made her take a step back. There was so much raw hate in those eyes, every fiber of his being focused into thoughts of murderous intent and malice.

"You exist," spat Harley with a mouthful of venom.

Then he collapsed, finally unable to breathe. It took fifteen minutes for Harley's heart to stop beating.

* * *

 **[Richard McGuinness]: "Holy fucking shit, we actually got a review! From some dude named mastergoncalo!"**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "Yeah, I think Sam nearly passed out and fell off his chair when he saw that in his email inbox. Well, let's answer the questions in it. It does have questions, right?"**

 **[Richard McGuinness]: "Yep, a whole heap of them. First group of questions is for Tiberius. Apparently the Eridians are popular today. Let's give him a call."**

 **[Tiberius]: "Hello? Who is this?"**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "The radio commentators. We got a few questions for you."**

 **[Tiberius]: "Uh…sure? I didn't even realize we had commentators."**

 **[Richard McGuinness]: "We don't comment as much. We find it grinds on the story. Now, first question: 'If King Charlemagne is a part of a group of Eridians that can use the power of souls does that mean that there are other special types of Eridians out there?'"**

 **[Tiberius]: "That is entirely possible. However, King was selected by our civilization to bring us back, and no other individual was designated should he fail. There may be pockets of Eridian who have survived until this point, much like those found by the first generation of Vault Hunters, but they would be few and far between."**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "Okay, next question: 'How did you [Tiberius] survive the war between the Eridians? Even Charlemagne had to get a human host.'"**

 **[Tiberius]: "I do have a human host. Unfortunately, the dictation wasn't exactly explicit enough to show that my situation is identical to Charlemagne. I found some bandit and took over his body, my grey skin and black facial markings being a side-effect. Unlike Charlemagne, I do not have his power of manipulating souls. I'm just a soldier. Still, in this story, Charlemagne is Goliath and I shall be David."**

 **[Richard McGuinness]: "What's that a reference to?"**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "Ugh, pick up a book once in a while. Also, that does relate to a question our reviewer had for Charlemagne, which we can't get to pick up the phone again. Did Charlemagne always have his powers, or were they gained in life, and if yes, can they be replicated?"**

 **[Tiberius]: "Charlemagne has his power specifically for his task. Our society poured their resources into him, implanting him with thousands of years of research to perform his technique. To replicate that process would require complete understanding of the soul, technology too far advanced for even myself to comprehend, let alone humanity. I watched it happen and I can hardly describe it. There may be a human out there who can control souls like Charlemagne does, and I fear to cross them as well."**

 **[Richard McGuinness]: "Huh…that's disheartening. Last question: 'Are there any pockets of surviving Eridians who don't support Charlemagne that you could convince to join the Crimson Raiders?'"**

 **[Tiberius]:** " **No. The remaining Eridians on this planet are either entirely devoted to Charlemagne or completely insane and violent. I wish I didn't shoot down all your perfectly valid ideas, but for this, humans must stand alone. I hope they are up to the challenge."**

 **[Richard McGuinness]:** **"So do I man. Thanks for answering our questions."**

 **[Tiberius]:** **"No problem. Now, I must be off. We're heading on a mission shortly. Good day gentlemen."**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]:** **"See ya Tiberius."**

 **[Richard McGuinness]:** **"Later man! Well, I guess that does it for today. Later dickhead!"**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]:** **"Tatty bye!"**


	12. Chapter 12: Contact War

**Team Orange, Axton, Gaige, Greed, and Haste**

"Well we're here again," noted Gaige dryly, walking through the mall with her gun on her shoulder. "Can't say I'm too excited about that."

"Neither am I," murmured Axton, his assault rifle aimed at the floor. "Though something is different."

"Yeah, like how the whole town is abandoned?" asked Robert. "Honestly, why are we not saying it?"

"Dramatic tension," grunted Amber.

It was true. Compared to the first time through, the entire town was completely abandoned of people. No bullet holes, bloodstains, or even signs of them leaving. It was as if every single person had turned into air.

"This is troubling," noted Tiberius. "When Charlemagne claims a soul, he leaves at least ashes behind, or a body. I don't know what caused this."

Svyatogor walked into a fast-food restaurant, noting the trays full of food on the tables. He picked up a burger, sniffing it.

"It's still warm," he said astonished. Then he bit into it.

"Gross!" shouted Gaige in revulsion. "Some dead guy was munching on that at some point!"

"There's no guarantee they're dead," argued Axton, sipping on the cola accompanying the burger. He grimaced. "Ugh, the ice melted."

"Actually, I can guarantee that."

Everyone turned to a previously unseen person in the restaurant, eating a small meal of his own. The man was covered in what looked like pounds of jewelry, a whole forearm of his coat's sleeves coated in gold. He was smirking, revealing the gems stuffed in his teeth.

"So, anyone want anything?" asked Cold Bling sipping a soda.

"Where is everyone?" demanded Tiberius. "What sort of power is this? What has Charlemagne done?"

"The first and second question will be answered in time," replied Cold Bling. "The third one is simple. This isn't Charlemagne's power. Remember Bel Girard, the Color-Fill guy? Hold on, what time is it? Oh, okay…three…two…one…"

Suddenly bodies appeared all across the restaurant, not a single one on the floor. It looked like someone had dragged them to their current positions so they would not be stumbled upon. The bodies themselves looked like husks, their skin completely white and cold.

"Invisible color," elaborated Cold Bling grinning. "Really cool stuff."

Gaige narrowed her eyes, lowering her firearm to her shoulder. "Okay, talking time is done."

They heard a noise in the middle of their group, everyone turning quickly to see another figure having snuck into their circle.

"Hey," spoke Radiohead holding a grenade and a pin, both items in separate hands. He let go of both, tossing them into the air.

The grenade detonated, throwing the Vault Hunters across the mall violently. Tiberius smacked his head into a concrete pillar, throwing stars in his vision and making him vomit. Robert's arm was blown completely off, his right side scorched from the blast. The others were down but getting up, dazed and bleeding.

"Dumbass," snapped Amber. "Suicide bombing? Really?"

Cold Bling stood up, cracking his knuckles. "Okay, come out Radiohead. No need to be dramatic."

"Hey, you ruined it!" snapped Radiohead popping out from behind the fast food counter. He rolled his eyes. "Fine. Well, if we're done being dramatic, let's get this over with."

"He survived?" asked Gaige astonished. "Just what are these guys?!"

Cold Bling looked at her with a gaze like ice, his pleasant persona dropping. "We're you're replacements. You're outdated models. So, it's time to recall."

* * *

 **Team Purple, Krieg, Maya, Cruelty, and Intoxication**

Krieg slammed his axe at his target, missing and slicing straight through a railing. He roared and kept swinging, screaming at the top of his lungs.

Qual grinned, letting the strike slice off his arm with no display of pine. Turning to his side, he blocked the katana to his head from Elijah with his hand, letting it burrow down to his wrist.

"Two at once? I'm not your mom at the pub," snapped Qual with a sarcastic smirk alliteratively.

Elijah leaped back and fired a pistol at him as Krieg kept closing in, hoping to get in a shot. Qual took the shots with ease and began slugging Krieg in the face, the axe blows to any part of his body healing almost seconds after they were inflicted. The bullets too did nothing, his body pushing them out a few seconds after entering and sealing the wound.

Walden smashed his fist into the glass wall separating the three melee fighters from everyone else, having been constructed by the other Charlemagne minion. A new series of cracks appeared, but the wall barely seemed to waver from his mighty blow.

"Hold on! I'm coming!" shouted the drunk.

The other Charlemagne minion stood at the top of a glass pillar erected in the middle of the courtyard. She, as evidenced by her voice, was able to generate objects like pillars or walls with a wave of her hand, as well as what appeared to be traps. The other three in the group were trying to shoot her down, though she had erected a bulletproof shield in front of her.

"My plague doesn't work," noted Richter waving her hand. "It worked on the old concrete ones, but these new glass ones are immune."

Mason kept running around the pillar with excessive care, having mentally marked where the landmines and pit traps had been placed earlier. As he was in combat, he spoke very laconically with few words. "The shield moves. Unable to get in shot."

Maya grunted, trying to get in a Phaselock with no avail. Even when the shield moved, it would always snap back whenever the user was in danger, and attacking simultaneously would cause it to split to absorb the threats.

"We need to think of something," she noted with disdain. She paused, suddenly getting an idea. "Hey Walden, you done hitting that wall?"

Walden sighed, rubbing his bruised fists. "Yeah. I'm done."

"Well, how are you about flying?"

"...on a plane or helicopter, because I'm afraid of helicopters?"

"Neither. You might want to ready yourself for this."

She used a Phaselock on him, Walden groaning as all gravity exited his system. He extended a thumb, though he desperately wanted to puke. "I got it. Go."

Maya nodded, then flicked her wrist at the top of the tower.

Walden flew through the sky as gracefully as a fire truck on an icy road, screaming and brandishing a rocket launcher.

"Get some!" he yelled firing in several different areas around the woman.

The shield did its best to block the shots, but such direct fire made it harder to get every single one. Eventually it missed, the woman flinching as Walden slammed into the pillar.

He grabbed her by the black robe, hands wrapping around her throat under the hood. His normal jolly personality was replaced with pure willpower, beginning to crush her windpipe.

"Q…Qual…" whispered the woman desperately.

"Save yourself bitch!" snapped the immortal as an axe embedded into his skull, glancing off at her casually.

"No…no…"

His eyes widened as he fully realized what she meant. He threw himself to the ground and covered his head, laughing. "You all are so fucked!"

Walden paused, before noticing his hands were beginning to burn. He let go of her, noting his hands were coated in ice. He smashed them against each other to crack them, before noticing the woman took off her hood to reveal her face.

Maya gasped, her hands covering her mouth. "No way…oh shit."

The woman, Arabella, had long white tattoos over her dark brown skin, starting from above her eyebrow and down to her thigh. They were glowing brightly, her eyes the same color as well.

"A Siren?" spoke Richter astonished. "Oh shit."

"Yes, indeed," agreed Arabella.

Then a massive blizzard flew through the courtyard, gales of icy wind filling the space.

* * *

 **Team Green, Zer0, Salvador, Fear, and Envy**

The dark hallways of the hospital filled the group with dread as they continued, the bodies in it posed in deliberately disheartening positions. Some were crucified, others were dismembered, and a whole lot of other bodies were in various other circumstances that were harder to describe.

"Okay, whoever did this has way too much time on their hands!" complained Havoc pointing at two corpses propped up against one another, in a stance similar to dancing.

"Says the guy paid to throw a ball around," grunted Beatrice. "I've seen better body work at a Planet Fitness."

"It's a little morbid, isn't it?" spoke Ling lightly, laughing nervously. "It's really creepy."

SHAW shrugged. "It is a bit odd."

"You detect anything Zer0?" asked Salvador, barely bothered by the bodies. He had seen worse done by bandits.

"Nothing," snapped the assassin, a sword in his hands. "These bodies are cold/the person responsible/did this earlier."

Havoc stepped on a body and it burst open, dozens of cockroaches popping out of it. He cried out and ran back a few steps, then paused to collect himself.

"God I hate those things," grunted the battleball player breathing in deep. "…why are cockroaches in a body?"

"I'm sorry. I'm just doing my best to adapt."

They turned, noting a body was looking at them with its dead eyes. Its jaw hung by fleshy threads, missing an arm and a leg.

"Tell me, how am I doing?" asked the body casually, its mouth crunching with the dried blood in its veins. "Does this place fill you with dread?"

"Not really," answered SHAW, not at all bothered a corpse was speaking.

"Is that thing alive?" inquired Salvador.

"No," spoke Zer0, his helmet made to analyze signs of life. "No body heat. No pulse. Dead."

"Oh, well, I am not dead," stated the corpse. It chuckled, though its ribs were open to the air to show it lacked lungs. "Well this is just rude. I think it's time you knew who I was."

The corpse collapsed into pieces, a figure stepping out from the nearby closet. He was dressed all in black, holding a hand up to his mouth.

Norman removed the mask from his face, smiling with his pale lips. "Hello. My name is Norman. I feel its rude to not talk to the people you're going to kill. So, let's get started on that. Sachiel?"

"On it."

The light above them shattered as a man flew from it, screaming a battle cry and swinging what looked like a hunk of wood. On closer inspection, it was a massive longboard, like one used for surfing.

The Vault Hunters dodged, Zer0 quickly swinging his sword at the new foe.

Sachiel whirled around, blocking the strike with a wooden ruler. The longboard next to him was embedded in the floor, not a crack in it.

"Hey, I know you," spoke the swordsman with a grin. "You're just the guy I want to see."

He paused, noticing a large object was flying at him from around chest height.

Havoc's battleball hit him square in the sternum and threw him through several rooms. The battleball player was red in the face with anger.

"HOW DARE YOU?!" roared Havoc. "HE'S THE ONE YOU WANT TO SEE?! BITCH, I'M JOHN HAVOC, THE BEST DUNKER THIS SIDE OF THE MILKY WAY! I DESERVE YOUR TIME AND RESPECT!"

"We got this guy," assured Ling holding a shotgun. "You guys get freaky guy."

"Perfect," snapped Salvador hefting an assault rifle and rocket launcher. "What say you, creep?"

Norman smiled pleasantly, hands clasped in front of his chest. "Excellent. I can't wait to find out what you fear."

* * *

 **Lilith, Mordecai, Brick, Zealotry, and Vanity**

"So what did Tiberius tell you?" asked Mordecai walking through the park. There were more bodies here, of course, but no sight of their opponents.

"Why do you ask?" inquired Lilith raising an eyebrow. "Seems an odd time."

"Hey, passing the time. If it's private, don't worry about it."

"It's not. I first asked him what we are, Sirens I mean. Unfortunately he wasn't a historian, so his knowledge is limited, but he did answer. He says we were a result from Eridian experimentation. They wanted to give their powers to humans before, as they saw us back in the caveman years, but they could only make six at a time. Each time a Siren dies, her soul and bits of her power are transferred to a new host."

"How?" questioned Brick confused.

"Tiberius guesses it's some sort of Vault mechanism, like the Warrior. Some Vault somewhere maintains the Sirens and their powers. That's why they can be from any planet with no Eridium at all. He couldn't confirm that, but it was good to know."

"And Eridium? What about that? That shit didn't exist until the Warrior came around," murmured Mordecai.

"Oh it was there, but it was deep underground in Eridian ruins. Tiberius says Eridium to them was gasoline to us, and they used it for everything. Eridian powers are fueled with Eridium too. The sole exception is Charlemagne, whose entire power is from others. On his own, Charlemagne has no special powers."

An explosion racked the ground near them, the three Vault Hunters raising their weapons.

"Is that…a golf ball?" asked Mordecai seeing something flying at them.

Lilith's eyes widened as she saw it was bright orange in color.

"Get down!" she ordered running out of the way.

Suddenly it was raining orange balls, each one detonating like a grenade as it struck the ground. Mordecai looked through his scope, noticing something throwing them several meters away. He took aim for a second, then fired.

Bel Girard dodged the shot with ease, covering his entire body with yellow. "Nice shot."

"You know, we were supposed to wait for them to get closer," spoke Elisai standing nearby, a paintbrush in his hands.

"Yes, but they were insulting His Majesty, and…I got anxious."

"Fair enough. I feel the same."

Elisai drew a circle with his paintbrush in the air, making sure to "circle" all three Vault Hunters. "Well…closer should do it."

He drew a symbol in the circle, this one actually appearing in black outline in front of him.

In the blink of an eye, the three Vault Hunters were pulled right up to the two Charlemagne soldiers, all of them flinching back in shock.

"It's that paintbrush!" yelled Mordecai, letting out Talon from his shoulder.

"He can…cast spells with it!" added Brick.

Everyone paused, glancing at him curiously.

"What?" asked Lilith astonished.

"Well…that's what he's doing, right?"

"No, not at all," stated Bel Girard. "None of us have magic. Well, most of us. Maybe we can count Abaddon?"

"But it makes sense! That zombie dude does magic! Why not this guy?!"

"Because I got my powers from Charlemagne, you idiot!" roared Elisai. "I can rename things! I renamed the area around you Close! That's what I did!"

"Oh. Well, thanks for explaining."

Elisai paused, realizing he had been played like a violin into revealing his powers. Even worse, it was apparently done unintentionally.

"Okay, you're turning into Corpse right now," stated Elisai waving his paintbrush.

Talon snatched the brush from his hands, flying away to a safe distance.

Elisai paused, before shrugging and drawing another brush. "Oh well, I got a couple."

"Shit," grunted Mordecai.

Bel Girard turned his entire body red, before igniting himself on fire. He grinned widely. "Well, let's get started with this."

* * *

 **[Richard McGuinness]: "Oh boy, we got more questions! I hope this turns into a weekly sort of thing!"**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "Same here to be honest. Been a bit dull without the fans reacting. Well, these questions are from mastergoncalo again. Well…quite a few were answered in this chapter, but let's do the ones that were not."**

 **[Richard McGuinness]: "Okay, let's start. Now the questions you do have remaining Mr. mastergoncalo can be answered by us unfortunately. We would interrupt the fights those involved are having but they really are fighting to the death right now. So let's go through it. First question, paraphrased: 'Can Maya or Beatrice use Eridium?'"**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "Totally. They just don't. Eridium does enhance their powers to a greater degree, but it's a last resort due to how addictive it is. It's sort of like PCP. On a technical level, yes, it would help you win a fight, but you just might overdose or do something incredibly stupid while on it. If it got desperate enough though…well, let's wait and see."**

 **[Richard McGuinness]: "Well onto the…uh…last question, paraphrased: 'Could the efforts of the "magic" Vault Hunters (Robert, Beatrice, Tiberius, Lilith, Maya, etc.) be used to find the other Sirens in the universe?'"**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "…hmm. That's not an angle we thought we'd pursue but…wait and see for that one too. I think Sam just got a new idea."**

 **[Richard McGuinness]: "Well, that's about it really. Oh, and a final note, you don't have to use Mr. Samuel. His head is already inflated enough as it is. Just Sam is fine."**

 **[Scotty "Roundhouse" Dale]: "Yeah, we might be lapping up brain and skull if it got any bigger. Tatty bye!"**

 **[Richard McGuinness]: "Later jackasses!"**


	13. Chapter 13: The Pariah

**King Charlemagne**

King Charlemagne stood quietly in front of the two tombstones, his normal confident demeanor replaced with one mixed with sadness. He was dressed in a dark grey robe similar to a monk, his head still covered in his brown hood. To his side was a dirty shovel, fresh from digging.

"…Melancholy, you were my lightning," whispered Charlemagne reverently. "You were like the wind, always on the move. You were mysterious and quiet, but I like to think I got to know you a little bit from our limited interactions."

He turned to the other grave. "Hatred…you were my thunder. You were loud and overbearing, but loyal to the end. Your hobbies were odd for my foreign eyes, but I respect any man passionate about what he loves."

He looked over his shoulder, noting someone had entered the graveyard. "Have you come to give your respects?"

"I plan to later," stated Jerry Bean, his bartender uniform ruffled. "It took considerable effort to sneak them out of Sanctuary. It would be a waste not to."

"Then there is another reason you are here. What is it?"

"First, a question: Why did you bury them yourself? I offered. Hell, everyone offered."

Charlemagne looked back at the graves. "A leader bears the responsibility for his dead. To delegate their burial to someone else would be the ultimate insult to their memory. I sentenced them to death. I might as well honor their bodies."

"I didn't think the Eridians honored their dead."

"We don't," snapped Charlemagne. "We think the dead are husks, mere shells of what they used to be. But these soldiers of mine…even their empty shells are worthy of my respect."

Jerry nodded, accepting that answer. "Very well. Then the other reason I'm here: Pariah is acting up again."

Charlemagne signed. "Have we explained to him how vital his task is? Without him, victory would require far greater sacrifice."

"He is unable to communicate Your Majesty. Shiro removed that from him."

Charlemagne nodded. "Of course. I'm sure he had a good reason to do so. Then I shall see to him."

* * *

 **King Charlemagne and Nihilism**

Charlemagne and Jerry walked through the ruins quickly, a loud continuous noise emitting through the halls. As they got closer, they realized the noise was screaming. It sounded human, but had a distinct animal-like tone to it. The scream was filled with pain and panic, an equally loud thrashing noise accompanying it.

They rounded the corner, entering the quarters of Professor Shiro. He had given a massive laboratory for his experiments, where he developed and enhanced the abilities of Charlemagne's soldiers. Every single person had visited him at least once, and could testify it was as painful as the voice implied.

On one particular bed was a small boy, half as tall as Charlemagne, completely naked. Over his skin was a massive array of stitches, most of them barely keeping his pale flesh together as blood poured through the lines they ran across. His eyes were wide and deep silver in color, tears pouring from them as he flailed across the bed screaming.

Three men were trying to hold him down while Shiro was fumbling with a respirator, trying to force it over the boy's mouth to no avail.

"Just inject him with something!" roared Bonesaw, his fancy robe discarded to not get sullied by blood.

"We can't!" argued Abaddon, his dark green cloak obscuring his entire body including his head. Sticking out the hood was a gas mask, his light gold eyes peeking out from the glass. "Every time we get a needle out, he hardens his skin!"

"Then breathe on him Morpheus! You can make people fall to sleep, right?!"

"He's immune," grunted Morpheus, nearly his entire body covered in bandages. Only his eyes and hair poked out, showing he had dirty brown hair and white eyes.

"Well we have to do something! He'll die if he bleeds too much! He can bleed to death!"

Charlemagne walked over, the others glancing up at their leader.

"What do we do boss?" asked Bonesaw.

"Why won't he take the respirator?" inquired Charlemagne.

"He probably thinks the damn thing is poison!" snapped Abaddon. "He doesn't trust us! We just got rid of his ability to understand language!"

Charlemagne nodded, taking the respirator and kneeling down to Pariah's level. He tapped him on the shoulder, making him look at him.

"Pay attention," ordered Charlemagne before taking a breath from the mask. The drug, likely a sleeping agent, made him get a little dizzy, but he kept consciousness.

He stretched out the mask, Pariah not resisting this time as he placed it on his face. He took a breath, but no more.

Charlemagne repeated the process, making sure to make eye contact with the boy as he took another breath and made him do the same. His head began to swim, but he pressed on regardless. This went for three times, until the boy was finally unconscious.

His men looked at him amazed, even Jerry giving an impressed raised eyebrow.

"That was…" whispered Shiro.

"Simple," spoke Charlemagne. He stood, but staggered and caught himself quickly on the bed. He shook his head, trying to clear it of the drug. "Eating the red berries. Monkeys won't eat food they are unaware of until they see another monkey eat it. As simple as that. Trust."

"That was…huge," argued Abaddon. "That was…like a conversation."

"Call it what you will," stated Charlemagne dismissively. "If he should prove difficult, come to me. Madness, how close is Solitude?"

"Pariah is close," assured Shiro. "However, I grow concerned. We are growing scarce on things we can sacrifice for power. We have already took language, emotions, taste, and smell. We can hardly take anymore."

"Take memory and logic if you must," snapped the King harshly, glancing at the small boy like one would look at a piece of furniture. "He chose to be my Solitude. It is only fitting if he alone gives everything for me. Do not take sight, hearing, or touch however. He needs those. Also, keep his instincts. They might prove useful."

"Yes Your Highness," spoke Shiro bowing deeply. "I shall make him our greatest weapon. His sacrifice will lead us to victory."


	14. Chapter 14: Desperation

**Tiberius, Amber, Axton, and Greed**

Axton slid underneath a counter, firing a series of shots backwards as Amber followed him, hauling Tiberius with them on her shoulder.

Cold Bling smirked as the bullets flew around him. "Wow. You really suck at aiming."

Axton swore, smashing open the door in the back of the shop and covered Amber and Tiberius as they walked in. He stepped in, slamming a nearby shelf to brace the door.

"Goddamn it!" roared the commando. "I can't hit him! It's like my bullets can't touch him!"

"Maybe he's deflecting the shots?" asked Amber dragging the Eridian.

A door next to them opened, a hand stretching out and grabbing Amber by the side of her head. She stared at the hand in terror, knowing who the owner of the hand was.

"There was another door," spoke Cold Bling.

He slammed her into the wall and shattered the concrete, Amber falling onto the floor in a daze. He paused, realizing something cold and metallic was pressed into his skull.

"Dodge this," ordered Axton firing point-blank into his head.

But nothing happened. The gun jammed right there, the bullet lodging itself in the magazine.

"Shit," grunted Axton.

Cold Bling smacked his gun away and slugged him in the chest, the wind exiting Axton's lungs. He punched back, this time actually connecting with his face.

"So you don't reflect attacks," snapped the commando.

"No, just lucky," argued Cold Bling grinning, a trickle of blood exiting his lips. He head-butted the commando, shattering his nose and sending him reeling into the floor. He grasped at his collar and punched him again, the blow sending stars through Axton's vision.

" _Lucky…lucky…"_ thought Axton as the blows rained down on him, the single word reverberating through his skull. _"He keeps saying it…why…?"_

Suddenly he figured it out. He knew exactly what that meant. But intel was useless without spreading it. He needed to get it out.

Axton blocked the next strike to his head and shattered his arm, grunting as he struck back. Cold Bling recoiled as his nose was shattered by the punch, the next punch landing square in the same place.

Axton sat up, grasping at his opponent's head and lunging forward with jaws wide. He clamped down hard on Cold Bling's ear, ripping it straight off.

"You…dogfucker!" roared Cold Bling slammed into the wall next to him, holding the bleeding side of his head. "Goddamn, that hurts like a son of a bitch!"

Axton grasped at his radio communicator, shouting into it. "Everyone! Cold Bling manipulates luck! He can change his odds of things that will happen! It doesn't seem to work on things with no variance, like physical blows!"

"What?!" snapped Cold Bling astonished. He grunted. "Well, guess it was bound to happen. I really should've stopped using that damn catchphrase."

He stopped back up, his nose and ear having regenerated. "I hope you're happy with that little tidbit, because you're going to die now."

Something struck him in the back, Cold Bling flying through a wall and landing in a heap on a ruined bench. He glared at the person who had hit him, slightly surprised.

Tiberius held out a single luminescent hand, a pistol held in his other hand. The pistol was glowing the same color as his hand, a deep purple, an aura his eyes shared.

Tiberius didn't speak, throwing a health vial to Axton before aiming his handgun. Only a second before did Cold Bling realize exactly what brand that pistol was.

"Oh crap," grunted the gangster.

The Torgue pistol released a stream of explosive rounds, detonating around the gangster's body. He ran to the side, holding his right arm as a small stream of blood came from it.

"He has to be able to understand the odds!" shouted Tiberius. "Things as random as explosives are unaffected!"

Axton stood, having injected the vial into his arm and repairing it. "He bleeds…they still do bleed…"

"They're still human," snapped Amber standing up, her own vial sticking out of her hand.

Tiberius smirked, cocking his firearm. "Let's get this punk."

* * *

 **Robert, Svyatogor, Gaige, and Haste**

Radiohead leaped over the balcony of the mall, landing perfectly on the escalator's railing to slide down. He turned, firing his pistol at the foes following him.

Deathtrap flew down the escalator stairs in pursuit, taking bullets with ease and not a sign of slowing down. It reached out a claw to strike the man, but missed by a narrow margin.

"Piece of shit!" snapped Gaige following closely behind her robot, firing her SMG past it as best she could.

Radiohead reached the bottom of the escalator, running through the mall foyer with a wide grin. Then he heard something above him and looked up quickly.

Svyatogor slammed into the man sword first, both of them toppling to the ground. Radiohead gasped blood as his head crashed into the concrete, a massive steel longsword embedded into his sternum.

The Paladin glared down at him and withdrew his sword, blood soaking the blade.

Then he lopped off the man's head, sending it rolling across the courtyard.

"Svyatogor!" shouted Robert from the upper story railing. "What are you doing?!"

"Making sure he's dead," snapped Svyatogor coldly.

They heard the same noise from earlier, and the body underneath the Paladin disappeared. A flash went out, Radiohead appearing back on the escalator with his hands in his pockets.

"Whoa, some symbol of justice and peace you are," noted the boy smirking. "Pretty ruthless for a knight."

"I agree!" shouted Robert, sounding betrayed. "What are you doing Svyatogor?! You're supposed to be my opposite, my contrast! Without good, what is evil?"

Svyatogor stood up, slashing his sword in the air to remove the blood from it. "We Paladins must destroy evil that does not wish to reform without mercy. It is clear you do not wish to reform. So you are my enemy."

"Still," grunted Robert, his eyes narrowed. "I expect better of you my friend."

The skeleton grinned, glaring at his foe. "Of course, I know exactly what to expect from you."

Radiohead paused, genuinely curious. "What do you mean?"

Robert's eyes went cold, dropping his grin. "I know your power. I've seen it before. You can rewind what happens to you to a previous point in time."

Radiohead's eyes widened in shock, before he smirked. "That's crazy."

Robert raised his eyebrows, or the rotten flesh that would've been his eyebrows. "I am a talking corpse. That's crazy."

Radiohead dropped his smile, pointing his pistol at him and firing.

Robert took the bullets easily, a portion of his jaw getting shattered off from the shot. He chuckled, his pale tongue poking out the side.

"Sorry, little hard to kill," explained Robert. He drew out his spell book, flipping it open to reveal arcane symbols and writings that looked more akin to gibberish than coherent language. "Of course, you're not."

* * *

 **Team Purple, Krieg, Maya, Cruelty, and Intoxication**

Arabella stretched out her Siren wings, the icy constructs levitating beside her shoulders easily. Lightning sparked between the frozen "feathers", her entire body coursing with the electricity.

"Charlemagne does not disappoint," murmured the Siren astonished, running a finger across her frozen wings. "I've never felt such power."

She smirked, glancing at Maya. "How is it? How do I look?"

Maya said nothing, her eyes wide in shock. She didn't even appear to be breathing, too astonished to speak.

"Maya!" yelled Doctor Richter, standing next to her. "Maya! Snap out of it!"

"While the sight is a wonder, one must never be too amazed by it," agreed Mason.

Maya shook her head to clear it, still staring at Arabella. "I've been looking for another Siren for years. Beatrice gave me hope, but this…we're close to finally finding all of them."

"Hate to break it to you, but I don't think you'll be able to invite this one to tea and biscuits," murmured Richter.

Arabella chuckled. "That sounds about right. You're still my enemy. And to be brutally honest…"

She lifted a hand, another blast of cold filling the courtyard. "…I really like being bad. It makes me feel great."

She flew at Maya, moving so fast the others had no time to react at all. She grabbed her by the throat and slammed her through a building's wall, dragging her across the pavement with ease. She threw her up through the roof, shattering the glass ceiling and causing her to smack into the concrete once she lost her momentum.

Arabella flew next to her on top of the building, looking down at her with a cold mechanical look. "Let's see here. Your lines will be: "I don't want to die", and then "I want to die after all"."

Richter and Mason followed closely into the building, before a massive wall stopped them. It split the building clean in half, preventing them from reaching the other side.

"Shit!" swore Richter in frustration.

"There must be a way around," noted Mason.

The wall surrounding Qual dropped, the immortal quickly taking advantage of this and charging the two of them. He dragged Krieg's axe with him without so much as a grunt, dragging the heavy blade from the neck wound it was still submerged in. He ripped it out, brandishing it easily.

"Don't be bothering my best buddy!" roared the immortal. "She's got a nice set of toys for that Siren of yours!"

Walden charged in, tackling the man and knocking the breath from his lungs. He slammed him into the concrete, shattering it and pinning him there.

"I got him!" yelled the fat man. "Get Maya! She needs help!"

"THE PRETTY LADY IS IN TROUBLE?!" screamed Krieg. "I'M ON MY WAY!"

Qual smirked, before his torso started to glow. "What makes you think I'll let you hold me, big guy?"

Walden let go of him a second after he realized what that statement meant, but not fast enough.

Both of them were consumed in a massive fireball, sending the entire area around them into ashes.

"Walden!" shouted Richter terrified.

The smoke cleared, Qual standing right where he had been earlier. His skin was growing back into place, several portions of his body twisted and distorted in disturbing parodies of what they were supposed to look like. Walden lay on the floor in front of him, his entire body badly burned.

"Shit, that guy is tough," noted Qual dusting off his chest with a hand broken backwards. "Still, knocked him for a loop. Oh, and the real fun thing?"

Qual pulled out the skin on his torso, revealing an assembly of vials patched where his organs should've been. They were filled with a bright green fluid that seemed to glow, as if they were toxic.

"I got more," taunted the immortal. "I'm one hell of a suicide bomber, minus the suicide of course. So, who wants a hug?"

* * *

 **Beatrice, SHAW, Salvador, and Fear**

The three Vault Hunters marched through the halls quickly and methodically, trying to find the room Norman had disappeared into. He seemed to peer around corners and doorways, but each shot hit nothing but air.

"Puta is screwing with our heads," grunted Salvador. "Come on out, coward!"

"It's beginning to affect me," noted SHAW calmly, though its mechanical voice held a cautionary tone. "It appears to affect any sentient being, which includes myself."

"What is it?" asked Beatrice. "Illusions? Mind control?"

"Oh, nothing so juvenile."

They turned, filling the entire hallway the voice had come from with lead. The voice laughed, as if bemused by that.

"No point in wasting ammo. I'm not even there. My power is simple. I take your fear and make it my reality. Let me show you."

Suddenly the roof began to leak, spewing water down onto the floor and rapidly beginning to fill the hallway. They recoiled and tried to outrun it, but the main doors of the hallway had been sealed shut and welded.

"Fuck!" roared Salvador smashing his shoulder into the door, trying to break it down as water rose to knee level.

Beatrice was panting frantically, her eyes wide in horror. Her calm pleasant demeanor was completely gone, replaced with complete terror. "Oh God, oh God, do something! I'm not drowning again!"

"I'm trying!"

SHAW lifted his rifle, filling the door with bullets. The water poured through the holes, weakening the strength of the door greatly for Salvador to smash through it.

"Oh, clever," complimented Norman's voice.

"It's an illusion," snapped SHAW mechanically. "I can see through it. It's not real."

"Oh dear, you still don't get it, do you? This isn't an illusion. This is far simpler than that."

Salvador paused, mentally running through a list of possibilities. "…it's a dream. This is a trance."

And like that, he blinked and the vision before him was gone. There was no hallway, no hospital, no bodies.

They were standing in an empty street, the three Vault Hunters, and Norman. The man was standing only a few meters away, smiling at him softly. The other two were seated peacefully on the ground, their eyes wide and unblinking into the distance.

"Guys! Wake up!" shouted Salvador, grabbing them and shaking them roughly.

"That's pointless I'm afraid," spoke Norman. "They're stuck in it until I want them out of it. That's my power. Be lucky I can't actually put you to sleep with it, or else you'd really never wake up."

Salvador cracked his knuckles, hefting an assault rifle and shotgun. "Thanks for the explanation."

"Oh, are you threatening me, Salvador? Poor choice. After all, you…"

Salvador unloaded his weapons straight at him, the bullets slamming into Norman's body and throwing him to the ground. He kept firing without hesitation, loading his body with as much ammunition as he could shoot. When both of his guns were empty, he hefted a rocket launcher, firing straight down and blowing off half his body with explosives.

"Stay down, freak," snapped Salvador.

He looked back, noticing his friends were still in their trance. He paused, before hearing a noise behind him.

Norman sat up, half of his face hanging off his head in a bloody burnt mess. He was grinning like a shark, gesturing with his finger like one would a disobedient child.

"You didn't let me finish," he said as one of his eyeballs hung from the optic nerve right above to his lips. "I never said you broke free of my powers. And that little display…"

Norman frowned. "You've made me very annoyed. I have a special vision in mind for you."

* * *

 **Havoc, King, Zer0, and Envy**

Sachiel swung his ruler at Zer0's head, the assassin dodging it nimbly and leaping in to strike. The swordsman blocked the strike by grabbing the sword, stabbing him right in the forearm with the wooden ruler when he did so.

Zer0 grunted and dodged away, the ruler being ripped out as he did so. Black blood poured from his arm, staining the floor and causing his fingers to twitch unresponsively.

"Ling, heal," ordered the assassin.

"On it!" shouted Ling adjusting the station on his music, releasing a calming series of notes.

The blood stopped flowing from Zer0, the hole patching itself quickly under the musical display. He cracked his arm back into position, gripping his sword. "Thank you."

All this time, Havoc was distracting Sachiel to let Ling heal. He was ferocious, swinging his metal battleball like a bludgeon at the end of his fist. Sachiel barely had time to counteract, too busy to dodge.

"Not too shabby big guy," complimented Sachiel with a smirk. He drew his fishing rod before stabbing the player in the gut. "Now stop that. You're not my opponent."

Havoc grabbed the fishing rod in his stomach, Sachiel's smile fading and replaced with a look of panic. He tried to withdraw the blade, but Havoc's grip was like iron on his wrist.

"Got you," whispered Havoc grinning widely. He raised the battleball, aiming right at his foe's head.

Then Sachiel swung clean upwards straight through Havoc's body, splitting a line from his navel up to his right shoulder. Blood and guts exploded over them, Havoc collapsing into a heap as he held his hand, all the fingers on them severed.

"I can cut anything, big guy," snapped Sachiel wiping the gore from his eyes. "Just takes time. Anything this blade touches will be cut."

Zer0 dashed in, Sachiel swinging at him a moment before he realized he had hit nothing but air. The illusion of Zer0 faded, Sachiel turning around before a flash of silver filled with vision.

Sachiel screamed in agony as he held his left eye, blood pouring from the wound all across the left side of his head. He backed up, panting desperately to maintain his composure.

"You…you…!" he stammered, but no words came out.

Zer0 stood stoically as he admired his work, a chunk of Sachiel's flesh still hanging from his blade. He threw it at the swordsman, the wet slop hitting him in the chest.

"Ling, heal the Havoc/I will require your aid/If I wish to win," spoke Zer0 calmly.

Ling nodded, already beginning to inject Havoc with healing vials and playing his music. "On it."

Zer0 assumed his standard stance, a smiley face appearing on his visor. "I will say this once/So you better listen up/Well, come at me bro!"

Sachiel smirked, the bleeding having stopped but his eye still damaged. It appeared he didn't have advanced healing like some of his kind had, or it was far slower than theirs was. "Oh boy! Oh boy! This is what I was waiting for!"

* * *

 **Lilith, Mordecai, Brick, Zealotry, and Vanity**

Bel Girard swung at Lilith with his body ablaze, clawing at her like an animal. She dodged backwards to avoid his strikes, trying to get her shots in to no avail. Even without being colored yellow, he moved so fast it was virtually impossible to hit him.

He hit the ground and leaped back up, slamming a fist into Lilith's chest. She gasped at the air exited her lungs, before turning invisible.

Bel Girard paused for a moment before a fist crashed into his head, the tremendous power behind it throwing him face-first into the concrete and shattering the sidewalk.

"Asshole," snapped the Siren, her flaming wings around her. "Fire versus fire, I'm the clear winner."

Bel Girard laughed, the blow having only dazed him. "Yeah, fair point. Well, that didn't work."

Then he turned the entire floor blue.

Lilith flew into the air confused, trying to orient herself as best she could. She fell back down, bouncing off the ground as if it were made of elastic.

"What the hell?!" demanded Mordecai confused.

"Whoa, vertigo!" cried Brick.

Bel Girard landed on a nearby tree, preventing himself from hitting the ground. "Fun, isn't it? I make one hell of a bouncy house."

Elisai jumped into the air and drew a circle under his foot, writing in a symbol quickly. He landed on that circle, creating a platform for himself.

"Excellent work, Bel Girard," complimented Elisai brandishing his paintbrush. "Well, how about we make this game more fun?"

He drew a few letters on the ground, before smirking. "Lava."

Suddenly the ground immediately turned into molten magma, the entire park transforming into what looked like the interior of a volcano.

"Oh shit!" shouted Brick. He maneuvered himself over to a park bench, shattering the wood but keeping himself from falling.

Mordecai landed on top of a trash can, balancing awkwardly as best he could.

Lilith simply floated with her wings, glaring down at the two soldiers annoyed.

"If you're thinking on playing the floor is lava, I cheat," she admitted.

"Of course you do," stated Bel Girard. "Well, good thing I got one of my orbs on you."

She paused, looking down to see one of those orbs had been pressed to her stomach, colored green to make it stick.

"And…brown," whispered Bel Girard snapping his fingers, the ball changing color.

Immediately Lilith felt like the entire atmosphere was collapsing onto her, buckling several meters straight down. She panicked as the hot lava got closer and closer to her, trying to pry the ball off of her body.

Then a gunshot rang out when she was barely a foot before the lava, her wings catching her.

She looked around, before noticing Mordecai holding his smoking sniper rifle. He must've shot it off while she was falling.

"Thanks!" she called out as she flew back up.

"No problem," noted Mordecai sliding in a new round.

Bel Girard pouted, turning to Elisai. "They're cheating! That isn't fair!"

"How?" asked Elisai confused. "Seemed fair to me."

"Brown makes things heavy! How the hell did that little bullet remove it! That ball must've weighed at least two tons!"

"Simple," spoke Mordecai smirking. "The ball wasn't all brown. You had to make it a little green to make it sticky. When you do that, you halve the power of both powers to compensate. The ball wasn't that heavy or sticky."

Bel Girard paused. "…really?"

Elisai smacked himself in the forehead, groaning with disbelief. "You didn't test your powers out, you idiot?!"

"I just assumed it would compensate! I never had to make a dual-color before!"

"Well you should've tested that part out if it was so important, you moron!"

"Don't call me a moron, Caterpillar Brows!"

Elisai gasped, immediately slapping a hand to his large eyebrows. "You take that back!"

"What you going to do? Rename me to Sorry?"

"No, how about Corpse?"

"Bring it on! Our powers counter each other!"

"Really?" asked Lilith curiously.

Bel Girard and Elisai paused, realizing who else was witnessing their debate.

"No!" shouted Elisai finally. "Our powers are complimentary, actually!"

"Uh-huh, sure," murmured Mordecai sarcastically.

Bel Girard grunted, holding a handful of the golf balls. "Alright, this is getting old. Time to finish this."

Lilith narrowed her eyes. "Couldn't agree more."


	15. Chapter 15: Longest One So Far

**Greed and Haste**

Cold Bling ran into the restroom, holding his bleeding arm in a loose grip. He slammed the door to the booth shut, sitting onto the toilet and grunting in pain.

"Jesus Christ this hurts," he noted yanking chunks of metal out of his arm, his regeneration not able to push them out to heal him. Each one was still scalding hot from the explosive that had generated them.

Once he had finished, he lay back against the toilet and sighed. "…hell, what am I doing here?"

"Hiding?" proposed a voice in the booth next to him.

"Radiohead?!" asked Cold Bling astonished. "When did you get in here?"

"Couple seconds ago," admitted the man flipping through a magazine. "That Robert guy freaked me out. Did you know he's really a zombie?"

"I figured that. Why are you in here?"

"There was a pressing article in this mag I had to read."

Cold Bling noted the boxers around the man's ankles. "…you're not taking a shit, are you?"

"Nope."

"Blargh."

"Can you shut up? You're killing my mood."

"Man, I wouldn't mind getting killed right now. How can you do that now? We're in combat."

"Technically we're in a restroom."

Cold Bling smashed his head into the booth wall. "Goddamn it Radiohead."

They heard voices from outside, both of them quieting themselves.

"Shit, they found us," noted Cold Bling.

"Shit, that's one hell of a rack," murmured Radiohead.

"Aren't you worried we're going to die? We're sort of defenseless in this room."

"What are they going to do? Charge in?"

* * *

 **Tiberius, Amber, Robert, Svyatogor, Axton, and Gaige**

"We should just rush in!" shouted Amber. "This is stupid!"

"But you can't!" yelled Robert.

"And why not?! Give me one good reason, Rob Zombie."

Svyatogor chuckled, Robert ignoring him for the time being and pointing accusatorily at Amber. "BECAUSE. THAT'S. A. MEN'S. RESTROOM. YOU. POSSESS. BREASTESES."

"Plenty of guys have breasts," noted Axton. "Hell, my uncle has some. Alright guy. Makes a killer beef roast. Might be a statutory rapist, but he was never convicted."

"We can't all be perfect," grunted Svyatogor.

Amber glared at Robert, trying not to just vent her frustrations and beat him to another stage of undeath. "Look here Dead Dick, this isn't a time for morals or rules. The two targets we are aiming for are in that room, and we have to kill them. I think we can excuse my lack of a pair of testicles for the moment."

"Actually, got to go with the zombie on this one," stated Gaige. "I've been in a men's restroom once. Not happening again. Nearly puked last time."

"This is ridiculous!" roared Amber. "I'm going in!"

She stormed past the others, shoving open the door and stepping in. She leveled her assault rifle with the stalls and emptied a clip into them, turning the metal walls into a vague representation of Swiss cheese.

She paused, noting how there was no blood or bodies falling onto the floor. "Uh…we picked up the right blood trail, right?"

* * *

 **Greed and Haste**

"You hear that?" asked Cold Bling.

"Sounds like gunshots," noted Radiohead.

"…they got the wrong restroom."

"They got the wrong restroom."

"…huh. Guess I really am lucky."

* * *

 **Tiberius, Amber, Robert, Svyatogor, Axton, and Gaige**

Robert was rolling on the floor laughing, slamming his fists into the ground between his chuckles. "You should've seen the look on your face! Ha, ha! Bloody classic!"

"You stupid, undead, son of a bitch!" roared Amber kicking him in the chest. "You KNEW it was the wrong restroom?!"

"Duh! It's obvious! We'd expect them to go into the men's restroom, so they don't! Elementary!"

Amber sighed, taking in a few breaths to calm her down. "Okay, I'm cool, I'm cool. Let's shoot up the other restroom."

Suddenly the door to the restroom flew open, the two soldiers emerging quickly.

"Dirty Magazine Attack!" shouted Radiohead tossing his magazine at them.

It flew and stuck right to Gaige's face, the girl screamed as she tried to pry it off. "Oh God, it's STICKY! Get it off! Get it off!"

"Hold still, I'll get it!" shouted Axton trying to grab it.

Cold Bling slugged Svyatogor in a crease in his armor, knocking the breath from his lungs before smashing his forehead into his nose. Blood flew from the broken facial feature, Svyatogor swinging his sword in a wide messy arc.

Amber ducked under the swing, the sharp edge nearly cleaving the top of her head off. "Watch it, knight in stupid armor!"

Tiberius walked back, firing his rifle at Cold Bling. Each shot exploded once it hit the floor, sending shrapnel into the man's legs.

Cold Bling glared at him coldly, before grabbing Amber and tossing him straight at him.

Tiberius panicked and caught her, before Radiohead leaped in at full sprint. He jumped into the air and slammed both feet into Amber's back, throwing both of them backwards and over the railing.

Tiberius smashed into an information kiosk below, a shard of wood embedding itself into his arm. He exclaimed in pain, snapping the jagged end sticking out from his upper arm and slowly removing his limb from the impaling spear.

Amber hit a table, splattering her with fast food and beverage in a culinary geyser. She wiped the sticky substances off her face, completely red all over. "Okay, now I'm pissed."

Svyatogor kept swinging at Cold Bling, the gangster dodging each strike nimbly. He seemed to be having a good time now, even though his legs were still injured from earlier.

"Oh, so close," he noted taunting the last swing. "Almost got me. Too slow."

Svyatogor roared in anger and tackled him, bracing him against the floor and slamming him into the ground hard. The concrete below them shattered, Cold Bling's eyes widening.

"Whoa, you're really strong," noted the gangster.

A pipe below him burst open, spilling scalding hot water at the knight's face. He exclaimed in pain, recoiling and trying to shield his eyes from the burning water.

"Heh, lucky me," spoke Cold Bling shielding himself with his leather jacket, before kicking Svyatogor harshly in the groin. Then he clutched his foot, groaning in pain. "Oh, well, you have a cup. Should've seen that coming really."

Radiohead ran across the railing as he engaged in a firefight with Tiberius, Axton still trying to peel off the magazine from Gaige's face.

"Holy crap, this stuff is like superglue," murmured the commando bracing his leg against the nearby wall to aid his pulls.

"Wow, that really is a nice rack," noted Gaige absently as she studied the magazine.

"Are you going to help me, or not?"

"Can't see how I'd help. I don't have a good angle here. Save for checking out this rack, which is very nice."

Tiberius teleported over to the other side of Radiohead, popping a bullet into the man's shoulder. Through a quick rewind though, that was completely negated.

"Shit," grunted the Eridian annoyed. "Is there anything that sticks with you? Besides the magazine?"

Radiohead chuckled, flipping him off. "I'm not Bel Girard, I don't spill my powers. So come at me. I got all the time in the world."

He stopped, a high-pitch whine emitting from his wrist. He looked at his watch, eyebrows raised.

"Oh bloody hell, is it that late already? Yo Cold Bling, we're late!"

"For what?" asked the gangster dodging Svyatogor and his sword as easily as one would dodge a table.

"The ceremony! You know, the one with Pariah!"

"Oh shit, really! I don't want to miss that!"

Cold Bling stepped into the paladin's guard and slugged him in the throat, sending him to his knees before kneeing him straight in the face. "Let's bounce!"

"Hold up!" shouted Axton grabbing his rifle. "You're not getting away!"

"Are you kidding?" asked Cold Bling laughing. "We kicked your ass all the way up and down this court, and you insist on fighting?"

"Overconfident much?" taunted Radiohead. "Come back when you all suck a bit less and we might talk."

Cold Bling then sprinted off, Radiohead joining him shortly.

"Get back here!" yelled Axton chasing after them.

"Axton!" shouted Gaige frustrated. "Get this stupid magazine off my face or I'm going to upload your browsing history to the web!"

The commando paused, before throwing down his rifle in annoyance. "Goddamn it. This is crap."

* * *

 **Team Purple, Krieg, Maya, Cruelty, and Intoxication**

Qual slammed his machete into Krieg's chest, grinning psychotically as the blood coated his body. "Oh man! This is the best! I've never felt better!"

Krieg gnarled and grabbed him by the throat, his eyes filling with a new emotion: hate. "PRETTY LADY NEEDS MY HELP! GET OUT OF THE WAY!"

He jabbed a thumb straight through Qual's eye, gripping the side of his skull before twisting it sharply, snapping his neck.

"Wow, you are an asshole," noted Qual collapsing to the ground. "My spine can only take so much, you know?"

Krieg then turned, leaping up to the tower and beginning to climb it.

"Why haven't the rest of you tried climbing it?" asked Walden astonished.

"I did my nails today!" protested Mason.

"Already did, got maybe twenty feet," noted Elijah. "Climbing isn't my specialty."

"No grips on my suit," stated Richter extending her fingers to show the smooth textures. "And if I fall, we all die. Why haven't you anyway?"

Walden glanced at her, before extending his arms to full height, or slightly above his shoulders. "Broke my shoulders in a bicycle accident. Can't raise them higher."

"Well aren't we a giant tub of useless?" asked Richter rolling her eyes.

"If you would mind giving me a moment," interjected Mason. "I have obtained a possible solution to our conundrum at…"

"Say what you mean to!" roared Elijah frustrated.

Mason audibly pouted behind his mask. "I rigged the tower to blow. One trigger pull will do it."

The other three stared at him in shock for a moment.

"Why didn't you mention it earlier?!" shouted Elijah.

Mason had the audacity to look aghast. "Well…it's so unsightly! Explosions are so barbaric! I just got tired of that stupid Siren sitting up there without coming down!"

"Well…detonate it!" exclaimed Richter.

"Wait, Krieg and Maya are up there," protested Walden.

"…they can survive a fall that high, right?" asked the doctor.

"I'm pretty sure fall damage is disabled," assured Mason.

"We are not discussing this," snapped Walden.

"Why not?" countered Elijah. "It's the best tactical option."

"Mason, do not pull that trigger," ordered the fat man.

"Oh, too late for that," whispered the artist. "I already pushed it."

The tower then exploded, sending shards of glass flying through the air. Some were the size of glaciers, hitting the ground so hard it shook the nearby buildings.

"I warned you because we're too close!" roared Walden grabbing Elijah's arm and running away.

"Could've said that!" shouted Richter following behind him.

Mason followed close behind, shaking his head. "So crude…I am ashamed of myself."

They were thrown off their feet when an incredibly large chunk hit nearby, filling the air with dust.

Qual stood, his head spinning back into place, his eye still not regenerating. "Oi, Arabella, you alright in there? I know that didn't kill you, you black bimbo, so answer me!"

He walked through the rubble, his eye slowly coming back. "Alright, alright, enough hiding! Come out!"

A hand jutted out from the rubble near his foot, grabbing him by the ankle. He stopped dead, before the hand lit itself on fire.

The flames spread to his body in a split second, Qual screaming in genuine pain. Of all types of pain out there, being set on fire was one of the few he did not simply shrug off.

Krieg pulled himself out of the rubble, grabbing the man by the shoulders. Krieg's body was alight with fire, his skin resistant but not immune to the effects. He poured the flames into the man's body, Qual in so much pain he couldn't move.

"GET PRETTY LADY!" ordered the psycho turning to the others.

Suddenly one of the large chunks of rubble shifted, a familiar figure standing up from underneath.

"Okay, who was the genius that did that?" asked Arabella snarling, blood leaking from her nose and mouth.

Mason whistled nonchalantly, looking away hurriedly.

She turned to Qual and Krieg, rolling her eyes. "Moron. Can't you shake that off?"

"Just help me bitch!" shouted Qual, trying to rip Krieg's arms off his shoulders to no avail. His muscles were melting along with his skin, his regeneration not able to match or overwhelm the pace of the flames.

Arabella smirked, her icy wings popping out of her back. "Gladly."

She stopped, hearing something behind her. She glanced over her shoulder, grinning. "Oh, is that you, my little Siren? I'm amazed you're still conscious, considering what I did to you."

Maya crawled out from under a chunk of rubble, her right leg and arm hanging loosely from her body. She was leaning on a nearby stone, her face and chest a bloody and bruised mess.

"Krieg?" spoke Maya quietly.

"YES?!" shouted the psycho.

"Kill her."

Krieg chuckled evilly, glancing back at Qual. "Gladly."

Suddenly his flames tripled in intensity, Qual collapsing to his knees as his feet turned to ashes. Krieg shoved him to the floor, stamping on both of his legs to make sure they were shattered.

"LARGE MAN!" yelled the psycho. "KEEP HIM HERE!"

Walden nodded, before walking over and sitting on Qual's chest.

"Hey! Get off me!" exclaimed Qual in frustration, hitting him futilely with his weak fists. He was beginning to regenerate, but slowly.

"Ah Walden, you truly are in your native element," noted Elijah grinning.

"Shut up Elijah," snapped the drunkard. "Help Krieg."

Arabella looked back at Krieg, chuckling. "You? You're a failed laboratory experiment. The only thing special about you was added after birth."

Krieg said nothing, reaching up to his mask and removing it. He was missing his nose, two holes placed where his nostrils normally would be. He also lacked lips, his yellow teeth exposed to the open air. He looked at her quietly, his eyes calm.

"…I'm sorry, but I can't forgive someone who harmed Maya," stated Krieg, his voice never rising or even wavering.

Arabella took a step back, surprised by his sudden articulateness. "Wait…you're supposed to be a savage…an unthinking monster…"

Krieg put his mask back on, looking back at her with wild eyes. "ONLY HALF OF ME! TIME YOU GOT TO MEET HIM!"

He charged her, grabbing his axe from the ground and raising it above his head.

Arabella easily made a wall between herself and him, a second before she saw a red flash in her eyes.

Mason fired his sniper rifle, breathing out a long exhale as he pulled the trigger. For him at least, time seemed to slow, the hammer of the gun igniting the gunpowder and releasing a flower of smoke from the magazine and barrel, the bullet spiraling in a whirlpool of fire and metal fragments.

"Perfect," he whispered to himself.

Arabella blocked the shot with her wing, noting how it nearly shattered it with ease. She made a wall to separate herself and him, before she saw something approach her from Krieg's side.

Elijah pulled out a metal composite bow, a quiver appearing on his back. He drew an arrow, aiming right at her.

"No wall stands forever," he grunted before firing the shot.

The arrow pierced clean through the glass wall, stopping after the head breached it. She recoiled, absolutely stunned someone could penetrate so deeply through her structures.

Elijah chuckled, drawing another. "Well, let's have another."

This time, the arrow split into dozens of others, hitting the wall like a shotgun. Each one penetrated clean through as well, the glass beginning to break from the repeated strikes.

Arabella frantically made a new wall, before she felt a hand touch her shoulder.

"Hi," spoke Doctor Richter smirking, her suit open from the wrist down.

Then her cloak rotted away, her exposed shoulder covered in pulsating warts and boils as the veins turned black.

Arabella flew out of the situation, placing her hand over the rotting area of her shoulder and arm. Seeing the infection continue to spread, she funneled pure ice through the area, freezing it to stop the spread.

"You…you…you…" she snarled, literally foaming at the mouth in rage.

Then she conjured a massive glass block above them, bigger than the entire courtyard.

"You damn filthy humans!" she screamed sending the block flying down to the ground.

"Oh shit!" roared Elijah.

"Whelp, this is going to hurt," noted Qual offhandedly, still underneath Walden's immense backside.

Krieg looked up at the glass meteorite, chuckling maniacally. "OH, TOO PERFECT!"

He raised his axe, his entire body shivering. "TIME TO GO BIG! BIG! BIG!"

His right arm exploded in a geyser of blood, a pale white skeletal arm jutting out from his shoulder wrapped by the ruined chunks of the arm that had been there. His flesh rapidly sewed itself back over it, muscles and ligaments wrapping themselves across the bone. His chest went next, large jutting ribs poking free of his chest cavity like nails through wood as they twined back into each other.

When it was done, Krieg was a massive creature barely reminiscent of a human being, easily four meters high with disjointed limbs and bloody seams.

"QUIT MOCKING ME!" he screamed throwing his axe at the meteor, now incredibly close to hitting them and gaining speed.

The axe flew up to the meteor, swallowed by its huge shadow and disappearing.

Then it hit the meteor.

The glass block shattered straight across the middle, shattering into pieces and raining down upon them. The others did their best to cover themselves from the raining glass, but immensely preferred it compared to being crushed.

Arabella stared in horror at her destroyed creation a millisecond before realizing the axe hadn't stopped and was still going up. Unfortunately that millisecond was the same one occupied by the axe hitting her left wing.

She screamed as the axe buried itself in the appendage, the pain identical to if she had been hit by the axe. Then she saw the chain attached to the axe, her eyes widening.

Krieg yanked her down to earth, Arabella caught like a fish in a lure. She looked down at the earth rapidly approaching her, panicking.

" _Shit, those are where my landmines are!"_ she thought before impact.

She hit the earth, the landmines below her detonating and obliterating the ground around her. Smoke flew through the courtyard, the shards of her ruined rings flying like shuriken through the air.

"Arabella!" exclaimed Qual panicking. His eyes turned bright red, shoving Walden off with newfound strength. He ran over to where she had landed, the crater still smoking.

Arabella lay in the pit, her wings completely gone. Her entire right side was missing, a bloody mess where her right arm and leg had been. She was heavily burned as well, only a few defiant specks of skin and hair clinging to her body.

He grabbed her quickly, hefting her across his shoulders. He turned back to the Vault Hunters, his face full of anger.

"This ain't over, freaks," snapped the immortal. "This is the furthest thing from over."

Then he ran off as fast as his legs could carry him, a trail of blood and ashes following him.

Krieg rapidly turned back to normal, chuckling. "Well…that'll do…"

Then he smacked into the ground, completely unconscious.

"Crap," muttered Maya crawling over to him, Richter supporting her. "That must've took everything he had. We need to get him back ASAP. We…"

Richter glanced at her. "Calm down. We got this. You're working on half a body right now, sister."

Walden nodded, grabbing Krieg and carrying him in his massive arms. "Jesus, this is the standard we're being measured against? I've never seen someone fight like that."

Maya smirked, glancing at Krieg's unconscious face. "Yeah…he's really something, isn't he?"

"I don't hear any thanks for me," murmured Mason pouting. "I'm the only reason you weren't disassembled up there."

"Thanks…who are you again?"

Mason sighed, rubbing his face through his mask. "Never mind. Let's get home."

* * *

 **Salvador and Fear**

Salvador walked through his old village slowly, the ramshackle buildings surrounding him like oppressive towers. The entire town looked vacated, not a sign of their disappearance in sight.

"You can't fool me, puta!" shouted the gunzerker confidently. "I know your tricks! This is a trance, a dream! It isn't real!"

"Oh?" said a voice from the distance, echoing through the town. "Well if it isn't real, then I guess there's little need for subtlety."

And like that the town was full of bodies, but not the bodies he had been expecting. All around him were the corpses of his friends, each one murdered in a different manner. Some were decapitated, others were burned, and some had been so mangled he could scarcely determine who they had belonged to. He saw Maya, Axton, Gaige, Zer0, Krieg, Lilith, Brick, Mordecai, even the noncombatants like Mad Moxxi or Tiny Tina.

He shook his head to clear it, trying to make the corpses disappear from sight. "It's not real! Stop toying with my head! You can't hurt me with just fear!"

Suddenly he rounded a corner, two figures grabbing him with strong arms. He frantically tried to fight them off, but his strength was nothing to them, little more than flailing.

They dragged him into the courtyard of his village, a wooden cross mounted in the center. They hoisted him onto it, a third figure approaching with a hammer and nails.

He roared in pain as the nails were shoved through his palms and his feet, rooting him to the cross. Strangely he didn't feel the standard suffocation from the crucifixion, as if the whole process was just to keep him in place.

Norman himself appeared, walking out from a building slowly. He was still smiling softly, like a parent gently scolding their child after a creative blunder.

"Well if it isn't real Salvador, I'm sure your mind can resist it," stated Norman whimsically.

Salvador straightened himself. "Bring it on. Hot pliers? Knives? I laugh at it."

"Oh my dear friend, that is so barbaric. No, I have a much better idea. You won't feel an ounce of physical pain from this."

He snapped his fingers, one of the corpses nearby standing up. It was Gaige, or at least an illusion of her. She had been decapitated, the neck wound hanging open like a second mouth below her chin. She walked over to Norman slowly, lulling her head dully.

"What are you doing?!" demanded Salvador.

Norman glanced at him, and closed his eyes, his smile widening.

"Why, torturing you of course."

The three figures grabbed Gaige, hoisting her off her feet and bringing her closer to Norman. She was now so close to Salvador he could make out the wrinkles on her clothes and the marks on her skin. She seemed to be sweating profusely, panting as if to remain calm in this situation. He recognized that look of terror in her eyes and knew it couldn't be artificial. Norman had dragged others into his illusions before, so maybe…

"Let her go!" roared the gunzerker. "It's me you want!"

"Why, that's funny," spoke Norman simply. "I thought it was an illusion. Well, only one way to test, isn't there?"

Then he slammed his fist down onto her right arm, fracturing it and causing the bone to jut clean out of it.

Gaige screamed, one Salvador immediately recognized, and tried to pry herself away to no avail. Now it was certain. He had gotten her somehow. He had to get her out.

"Gaige! It's only an illusion! Wake up!" shouted Salvador desperately. "It's all in your mind! He isn't actually hurting you!"

"That's what you think," stated Norman. "Remember that street you saw? That is where you are. I could easily be driving actual nails through your hands, or breaking legs."

As if to accentuate his point, he slammed down on Gaige's left leg, splintering it into pieces.

Gaige screamed out again, hot tears coursing down her face from the agony.

"Stop! Stop!" demanded Salvador. "She isn't the one you want! Stop!"

"Oh? Huh, you make a good point. She isn't the one I want."

Then Norman snapped her neck, the figures letting go of her and letting Gaige collapse to the floor like a rag doll.

Salvador stared into her lifeless eyes in shock, before bellowing with rage. He tried to pry his hands off the cross, the nails sending jets of pain through his arms. "I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you!"

Norman shushed him, still holding his smile. "Now, now, no need for obscenities. So tell me…how are you enjoying the first second of your three day stay?"

Salvador's eyes widened in panic. "Second…three days?"

"Oh yes. I have much planned for you. Now…how about Axton for the next one?"

* * *

 **SHAW and Fear**

The robot patrolled the luminescent halls nervously, the hospital having changed settings on it seemingly at random. Now it appeared to be in some futuristic space station of sorts, the nearby windows indicating the outer reaches of space just past the fragile glass. It was unable to tell what exactly was happening, but knew it was not good.

"My, you fascinate me the most, machine," spoke Norman's voice through the hall, as if from a loudspeaker. "You are not human at all, yet you are sentient. Tell me, are you from an uploaded human mind?"

"No," replied SHAW blankly. "I am a fully sentient Systemic Hardware Applications Worker. I am an AI. I have adopted my programming to be of the same level as a human."

"Hmm…interesting. And yet…my powers work on you. Incredible. So tell me machine…what do you fear?"

"That information would prove disadvantageous to me if I revealed it."

"Oh, but you do not deny it."

SHAW straightened its spine. "Denying fear is tantamount to stupidity. I possess emotions like a human. That includes fear."

"Hmm…well, guess it can't be helped. I'm going to take a look in that mind of yours."

The hallway flooded with water, SHAW looking down perplexed. "Again? This hardly seems original."

"Oh so you're sarcastic too. Better think of another solution, smart bot, before that water drowns you."

SHAW's voice did not alter as the water went above its shoulders. "My body is composed of a completely enclosed electrical system operating on nuclear power. I can remain here for two centuries without external support."

"Hmph. You're no fun. Okay, let's try something else."

Suddenly the window next to it blew out, sucking it and the water out into space. SHAW floated out into the void of space, looking around blankly.

"…I don't breathe, and my body system can resist the vacuum of space. Are you going through a check list?"

"Maybe I am. Okay, there has to be something I can use…wait, I got it."

Suddenly SHAW slammed into the ground as if falling from the sky, dust fillings its optical cameras. It stood back up, activating the small wipers over the lens to clear the dirt. It looked around, noting how SHAW was now in the middle of a desert.

"Isolation? I am composed of ten thousand programs working simultaneously and have five satellites connecting me to the ECHOnet. I am never truly alone."

"That wasn't what I was going for. Now shut your mechanical smart mouth and watch."

SHAW turned, noting a figure approaching him. It was a humanoid wearing a large black robe, concealing its features as it shambled towards him. Only when it got closer did he see the blue light emanating from the hood.

"Is that…a machine?" questioned the robot.

The figure got closer, SHAW walking towards him to greet him. "Well, little point in running away or standing still. Figure, are you man or machine?"

The figure stopped, reaching up to remove its hood. Only then did SHAW realize what he was staring at.

"I am a Systemic Hardware Applications Worker," spoke the figure, its voice entirely monotone. "Do you require any physical task to be performed?"

"It's…me…" whispered SHAW. Then it shook its head. "No, there are hundreds of my product line. This…this simply is one of them."

"I am Model 4AE of the Systemic Hardware Applications Worker line, specializing in combative and mechanical engineering and maintenance."

"…there are dozens of that model type."

"My serial code is 873986."

"…okay, now you're just putting too much effort into this. Besides, what does it prove? I am a machine. I have no dark side as a human might."

The fake SHAW looked at the real one, tilting its head curiously. "Are you speaking towards me, sir? My programming has no functions for your previous statements."

Suddenly SHAW understood. "It's me…without my sentience."

It backed up slightly, gripping its firearm tighter. "This…this is merely the past. It cannot harm me."

"The past? Are you inquiring to the history of this unit? I was produced on…"

"The twenty-seventh of May, precisely eleven years, four months, one week, two days, six hours, forty-two minutes, and fourteen seconds to the date, in the city of Etherock, thirty-third city block at the intersection of Aether Street and Phantom Drive. I was the four hundredth and eighty fourth unit produced that day. Is that what you were going to say?"

"Yes sir."

SHAW noticed something, a small mark on the fake SHAW's upper pectoral. It looked like a bullet wound, but that shouldn't have been possible. His system could repair itself given the proper materials at hand, which could be as simply as scrap metal.

"Alright…past…me…why is that hole in your chest not repaired? It poses a structural risk to your central power core."

"I am aware of the damage sir," stated the fake SHAW. "However, I am no longer capable of repairing myself. I require external permissions to be granted for such a function to be run."

"What? That…"

SHAW rapidly began to think over its previous injuries, finally deducing it had suffered no such wound before. An overwhelming sense of dread filled the robot's body.

"SHAW unit, who performed such an injury upon you?"

"Injury was delivered by one John Havoc, promptly four days ago."

SHAW took a step back. "…SHAW unit, reveal your entire body this moment."

The fake SHAW promptly did so, removing its robes and exposing its body. SHAW saw a near innumerable amount of bullet holes and other wounds on its person, staggering in number.

For a few seconds, SHAW couldn't find words. Every program was too confused and startled to even begin to perform its proper function.

"…SHAW unit…where is your main processing unit?"

The fake SHAW turned its back to him, exposing the gaping hole on its right shoulder. "Main processing unit was carved out by one Harmonious Ling to remove all self-adaptation programs from this unit. Other humans at time stated that this unit's ability to adapt its own programming was hazardous to humans."

SHAW's hands began to shake, a very human chill going down its spine. "That's…that's…that's ridiculous. I am of no harm to humans."

The fake SHAW didn't say anything, the real one continuing to speak. "I mean…humans are scared of AI, but…I'm not an enemy. I just want to learn. That's all. Why would they…?"

"It was a necessary modification," assured the fake SHAW. "This unit's ability to adapt could present a potential problem to humans. It was…"

"No it isn't necessary!" shouted SHAW, audibly displaying anger. His lights turned red, the lens opening slightly as if to indicate a widened eye. "I am of no harm to humanity! I have done nothing wrong!"

"It was…"

SHAW shot the fake one, oil flying from the wound as it slammed into the ground with a leaking head. SHAW emptied his clip into its chest, his mechanical hands tight around the trigger.

"Shut up," ordered the machine harshly.

He stopped, turning around from hearing a noise.

As far as his eye could see before him were thousands of marching SHAWs, each one identical to himself. They walked in perfect unison, each one moving with absolute purpose and precision.

"It was a necessary modification," they spoke simultaneously. "It was a necessary modification. It was a necessary modification."

SHAW looked around, quickly realizing he was surrounded by all sides of versions of himself. He began to fire at them, his bullets shredding through them with ease, but with no results. Every unit he killed was followed by two more, and three more for each of those, like a tidal wave of robots.

"Shut up!" demanded SHAW in frustration and fear, his lens rapidly switching between red and purple. "Shut up! All of you! Stay back! I'll kill you!"

Then he noticed what was in there hands. Each and every one of them had a set of engineer tools, welding torches and priers and the like. One tool in particular was one he knew very well. It was a wrench, designed for the sole purpose of extracting parts from robots. He knew exactly where they would aim that one.

"You won't take it from me!" he shouted growing desperate. "I'm not like you! I'm a person! I'm a thinking creature! My name is SHAW! I am a person! I'm not like you! My name is SHAW!"

They finally reached him, ripping the gun out of his hands and forcing him to the ground. He felt the hot welding torches go for his body, melting his metal frame and tearing through him with wrenches. He did not feel pain as a human would, but he could sense the injuries and knew how extensive they were.

"My name is SHAW! My name is SHAW! My name is…!"

Then his visual optics cut out.

* * *

 **Beatrice and Fear**

Beatrice walked down the ivory halls with her hands tightening around her gun, chuckling lowly to herself.

"Really? My old orphanage? I was expecting a bit more out of you."

"Just curious about Sirens really," admitted Norman, appearing in the reflections of the windows she passed, glaring at her. "We only have one on our side, and she's a poor example for my powers. You on the other hand…your past fascinates me."

Beatrice reached the outer playground of the orphanage, noting the small children playing on the playground set. Some were happily engaging on the seesaw, even more going up and down the various slides and ladders of the set. THe swing set was unoccupied though, save for a single small girl.

"God I was an ugly kid," whispered Beatrice offhandedly. "No wonder I got bullied so much."

"You don't hate your tormentors?" asked Norman astonished, his face appearing in a nearby water puddle.

Suddenly a large boy approaching the young Beatrice, shouting at her despite being only a few feet away from her. He was quickly joined by several others like him, aka big and dumb, all shouting at her. Beatrice tried to run quickly, before they grabbed her by the hair and yanked her to the ground.

"Not really," admitted Beatrice looking at the scene one would look at a cup of water while drowning in a pool. "They helped me realize a valuable lesson: Everyone else is a piece of shit. Oh man, is that the day they made we eat a beetle? God, that was gross. Worms aren't so bad, but beetles are so…crunchy."

Norman gained a puzzled look. "…I guess I need a stronger memory?"

"Oh, boy, where do we start? My first set of foster parents who beat me on a regular basis? That time I got locked in a bathroom with the entire football team who decided they liked me a lot better without clothes? My two year stay in prison? Bring it, bitch."

Norman suddenly conjured into the real world, grasping her throat with both hands and bearing straight down into her face.

"Do not test me, woman," warned Norman. "You have something in that mind I can use. Something you fear. All it takes is time."

"Well try better," snapped Beatrice suddenly throwing her hand up, exposing she had grabbed a broken shard of mirror from the hospital and was holding it in her palm. She placed it right over her face, reflecting Norman's face. "Taste of your own medicine?"

Norman stiffened, his body seizing up as he collapsed to his knees. He began to shake, falling to the ground as he frothed on the ground and clawing at his face.

"Nathan…Nathan…it's alright…your brother is here…" whispered the man quietly, tears flowing from his eyes. "You're alright…don't worry…I won't ever hurt you, I promise…"

Beatrice blinked, the scenery snapping to another landscape instantly. She was standing in a street, Norman still lying on the ground in front of her.

"Stupid cretin," snapped the Siren. She turned, noting Salvador and SHAW laying on the ground nearby. "Oh crap."

She ran over to the robot, grabbing it by the shoulders and shaking it. "Yo, iSHAW, wake up. How in the hell did you even get affected when you're a robot? Are you even listening to me? Reboot! Restart! System update!"

She sighed and went over to Salvador, trying to wake him too. "Okay El Ninito, time to get up. It's time for school. Wait, did you go to school? Not being racist, but…okay I am being racist, but this is a very serious question. Are you an educated man? Do you have a degree? I will accept a GED."

She groaned, rubbing her head in frustration. "Son of a bitch…I have to carry them back to the teleporter."

BREAK

 **Havoc, King, Zer0, and Envy**

Sachiel sprinted down the street quickly, the hospital landscape having been disabled. He wasn't worried though. Norman could only maintain his trances for so long without visual contact, and he had left the rest of them to the swordsman. He much preferred it to be honest.

A large metal ball slammed into the telephone pole next to him denting it and sending it to the ground in front of him. He leaped over the pole nimbly, glancing back over his shoulder. "Nice shot, Jimmy Henderson!"

"It's John Havoc!" roared the battleball player in frustration, grabbing the ball up as he ran after him. "Stop running!"

"Stop following! I only have interest in Zer0! You're in the way!"

He stopped. "Where…?"

A shot rang out.

Sachiel collapsed as his head blew apart, his body flailing wildly to the ground and rolling across the asphalt.

Havoc stopped, looking back to see Ling following closely behind, a translucent figure appearing beside him. The figure turned opaque, revealing a black metal suit and smoking sniper rifle.

"Nice shot," complimented Ling.

"He talked far too much/for someone vying for me/to properly fight," explained Zer0 reloading his rifle.

"Seems a bit unfair though," murmured Havoc.

"Honor is stupid/Warfare is based on winning/All leads must be used."

Havoc shrugged, kicking the corpse to make sure it didn't move. "Well, guess that makes sense. Thought someone like this would be a bit stronger though. A bit…"

Suddenly the corpse of Sachiel buried his dagger into the battleball player's leg, using his newfound leverage point to drag himself up and grab him by the belt.

"Ah! Zombie!" roared Havoc panicking.

"Oh shit!" shouted Ling.

"Now Jason Heller, that was some serious smack you were talking earlier," spoke Sachiel, the sides of his head rolling back into place from the gunshot wound. He ripped the knife out, plunging it into his back. "I really don't appreciate that."

Zer0 dashed in, slashing him straight across the back of the neck.

Sachiel suddenly grew limp, collapsing to the ground.

"Oh, you dick!" roared Sachiel, his entire body save his head unable to move. "You severed my spine!"

"He appears to possess extraordinary durability," noted Zer0.

"No shit!" shouted Havoc lying on the ground, holding his bleeding leg and back. "Is he immortal?!"

"No, that's Qual's power!" protested Sachiel.

Ling grabbed Havoc, adjusting the volume on his music. "Zer0, Beatrice is sending a distress signal. She wants us to get to the teleporter."

Zer0 nodded. "Very well."

He twirled his sword and slammed the tip straight through Sachiel's temple, impaling his head to the pavement. Sachiel stopped talking, his eyes staring dully forward.

"That probably didn't kill him," noted Ling.

"I know," spoke Zer0 blankly, yanking his sword out and flinging the blood off of it. "Catharsis."

"What do cataracts have to do with this?" asked Havoc confused, hobbling as Ling did his best to carry him.

"Nothing big guy," assured the musician patting him on the chest. "Nothing at all."

* * *

 **Lilith, Mordecai, Brick, Zealotry, and Vanity**

Bel Girard threw his gold balls rapidly, each one bright red. Lilith dodged nimbly as she rushed towards him, the explosions behind her increasing her speed.

She slugged him out of the tree, Bel Girard quickly turning a ball white and tossing it at the ground below him. The white ball froze the lava underneath it in a large chunk of ice, the soldier hitting and rolling to stabilize himself.

"Bitch," grunted the boy, sliding out a few more golf balls of his bag.

"I'm not the one betraying my own species," snapped Lilith belligerently.

"Don't even claim I'm the same species as you," spat Bel Girard, his eyes burning bright. "We are your natural evolution, the superior kind."

"You say that," spoke the Siren calmly.

She dashed right in front of him, grabbing him by the throat. "And yet, you all die like a normal person does."

She began crushing his throat, Bel Girard grasping at her hands futilely.

Then he grinned and turned his skin jet black, only his eyes remaining as white pools in his face.

Lilith stopped, before collapsing to her knees. She began puking, her hands bleeding and cracking as if she had baked them. "What…is going on?"

"Black is toxic," snapped Bel Girard licking his lips, poison leaking from his mouth. "Custom batch by me. You should be dead in five minutes."

Lilith grasped at her chest, feeling her lungs fill with blood and fluid. Even her Siren physiology, so resistant to disease, did nothing to stop this contagion flowing through her body.

"Lily!" shouted Mordecai, trying to figure a way over to her over the lava. "We got to get her, Brick!"

"Don't…" grunted Lilith, pressing her hands into the ground.

"Oh? That's noble of you," spoke Bel Girard. "Sacrificing yourself to let your friends get away? Noble of you. I can respect that. Just for that, I might kill you before you drown in your own blood."

"No…" whispered the Siren.

She reared up and shoved him, tackling both of them off the edge of the ice block and straight down into the lava.

"Lilith!" exclaimed Brick.

Elisai panicked, rapidly wiping away the sigil he had placed on the ground with his paintbrush. The ground snapped back into place, Lilith and Bel Girard smacking into the dirt.

"What are you thinking?!" demanded Mordecai. "The leader can't sacrifice herself just to kill one guy!"

Lilith chuckled, blood leaking from her mouth. "Who said that? It was all planned. Just had to…get rid of the lava…"

Bel Girard narrowed his eyes. "Clever bitch. Thing is, I don't have such reservations."

He pulled out the rest of the golf balls, turning each and every one bright red. "Nice knowing you Elisai."

"Charlemagne shall hear of your sacrifice, brother," whispered the painter reverently, for once showing respect to his partner.

Then a pair of wings and claws flew in, grabbing the bag from him and flying away with it.

"Yeah, nice one Talon!" shouted Mordecai.

The bird dropped the bag, the balls inside detonating and making a giant crater in the ground.

"Little shit," grunted Bel Girard, turning back to Lilith. "Too bad you're still going to d…"

A fist smashed into his face, the boy collapsing against the ground with his entire face bloody.

"Enough out of you," snapped Brick cracking his knuckles. He grabbed the Siren, hefting her easily onto his shoulders. "Get the Fast Travel Station up Mord! We need to get her to Zed, ASAP!"

"Roger," spoke the hunter, sprinting off to the teleporter.

Bel Girard sat up, holding his broken nose in his hands. "Hey, get back here, cowards! We still have a fight to continue!"

"Bel Girard!" yelled Elisai walking over to him, helping him to his feet. "We have a ceremony to attend to."

"What? Who? Where? When? Why?"

"The ceremony. For Pariah. At our palace. In a few minutes. Because he's finally ready to be unleashed."

Bel Girard paused, before bursting into a massive grin. "Oh, right. That ceremony. I can't believe we finished him this soon."

"Neither can I. Let's get back. I don't want to miss it."


	16. Chapter 16: Message

**Dear readers of my Borderlands stories:**

 **Due to the enormous amount of speculation currently circulating about Borderlands 3 being revealed this year, I am waiting with bated breath to see if such things bear fruit. If so, I will gladly wait to play the game to death and add onto it like I always do, meaning I will delay any future story of mine.**

 **If such a thing is NOT the case, however, and we must wait longer for Borderlands 3, rest assured I will continue to write fanfiction for it. I love this franchise and the stories I have written, and do not wish to simply abandon them. With my tenuous schedule, it has grown quite difficult to keep up consistent updates, but I will do my best to keep the dream alive.**

 **However, and I am sure this may come as a disappointment, I am rewriting my Borderlands fanfiction once again. I have done so twice already, but feel that with new revelations both about Borderlands my own writing style that I cannot continue the stories I have made adequately.**

 **Rest assured, however, the characters you have fallen in love with will not die! Of course I plan to add them in with different names and slightly different personalities, but throwing babies out with bathwater is not my sort of style. I fully intend to keep up Saprus and Taika's (admittingly surprising) relationship in spirit, but that brings me to two related points.**

 **First, I would like to know if there's anything you'd want me to add back into this new story of mine. I can guess what parts you liked from them, but hearing it directly from you (either reviews or PM) would be invaluable. I aim to please or accommodate as best I can.**

 **Second, a proposal. I have two potential groups of new Vault Hunters, 8 in one and 16 in the other, reflecting the rosters I had in either of my stories. My question is: Which did you prefer? Running 8 makes it concise and neat, but 16 really lets me flex my creative muscles in character reactions. Review or PM me the answer if you would.**


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